WILD  YOUTH  AND  ANOTHER 


WILD    YOUTH 
AND  ANOTHER 


BY 

GILBERT  PARKER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MONEY  MASTER,"  "THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY,"  "THE  RIGHT 
OF  WAY,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
FRANK  B.  HOFFMAN 


PHILADELPHIA  &  LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYRIGHT,    Ipig,   BT   I.   B.   UPPINCOTT  COMPANT 


PRINTED  BT  J.   B.  MPPINCOTT  COMPANT 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PRESS 
PHILADELPHIA,   17.  B.  A. 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF 
THE  TRUE  FRIEND  OF  TWO  GREAT  PEOPLES 

AND  OF  HUMANITY 
WALTER    MINES    PAGE 


2227801 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

CHANCING  TO  GLANCE  FURTHER  HE  SAW  A  FACE  AT  A  WINDOW.  . 

Frontispiece  % 

THE   PROPHET-BEARDED  JOEL    MAZARINE,  WITH   A   BEAUTIFUL 
YOUNG  GIRL  BEHIND  HIM,  STEPPED  FROM  THE  WEST-BOUND 

TRAIN Io 

"I'M  YOUR  WIFE  BY  THE  LAW" 96 

"WHATEVER  HAPPENS  You  MAY  DEPEND  ON  ME" 132 


WILD   YOUTH 


WILD  YOUTH* 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MAZARINES  TAKE  POSSESSION 

FROM  the  beginning,  Askatoon  had  had  more  character 
and  idiosyncrasy  than  any  other  town  in  the  West.  Per- 
haps that  was  because  many  of  its  citizens  had  marked 
personality,  while  some  were  distinctly  original — a  few  so 
original  as  to  be  almost  bizarre.  The  general  intelligence 
was  high,  and  this  made  the  place  alert  for  the  new 
observer.  It  slept  with  one  eye  open ;  it  waked  with  both 
eyes  wide — as  wide  as  the  windows  o<f  the  world.  The 
virtue  of  being  bright  and  clever  was  a  doctrine  which 
had  never  been  taught  in  Askatoon;  it  was  as  natural 
as  eating  and  drinking.  Nothing  ever  really  shook  the 
place  out  of  a  wholesome  control  and  composure.  Now 
and  then,  however,  the  flag  of  distress  was  hoisted,  and 
everybody  in  the  place — front  Patsy  Kernaghan,  the 
casual,  at  one  end  of  the  scale,  and  the  Young,  Doctor, 
so  called  because  he'  was  young-looking  when  he  first 
came  to  the  place,  who  represented  Askatoon  in  the 
meridian  of  its  intellect,  at  the  other — had  sudden 
paralysis.  That  was  the  outstanding  feature  of  Askatoon. 
Some  places  made  a  noise  and  flung  things  about  in  times 
of  distress ;  but  Askatoon  always  stood  still  and  fumbled 
with  its  collar-buttons,  as  though  to  get  more  air.  When 
it  was  poignantly  moved,  it  leaned  against  the  wall  of 
its  common  sense,  abashed,  but  vigilant  and  careful. 

That  is  what  it  did  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joel  Mazarine 

*  Copyright,  1915,  by  Gilbert  Parker. 


xo 

arrived  at  Askatoon  to  take  possession  of  Tralee,  the 
ranch  which  Michael  Turley,  abandoning  because  he  had 
an  unavoidable  engagement  in  another  world,  left  to  his 
next  of  kin,  with  a  legacy  to  another  kinsman  a  little 
farther  off.  The  next  of  kin  had  proved  to  be  Joel 
Mazarine,  from  one  of  those  stern  English  counties  on 
the  borders  of  Quebec,  where  ancient  tribal  prejudices  and 
religious  hatreds  give  a  necessary  relief  to  hard-driven 
human  nature. 

Michael  Turley  had  lived  much  to  himself  on  his 
ranch,  but  that  was  because  in  his  latter  days  he  had 
developed  a  secret  taste  for  spirituous  liquors  which  he 
had  no  wish  to  share  with  others.  With  the  assistance 
of  a  bad  cook  and  a  constant  spleen  caused  by  resentment 
against  the  intervention  of  his  priest,  good  Father  Roche, 
he  finished  his  career  with  great  haste  and  without  either 
becoming  a  nuisance  to  his  neighbors  or  ruining  his  prop- 
erty. The  property  was  clear  of  mortgage  or  debt  when 
he  set  out  on  his  endless  journey. 

When  the  prophet-bearded,  huge,  swarthy- faced  Joel 
Mazarine,  with  a  beautiful  young  girl  behind  him,  stepped 
from  the  West-bound  train  and  was  greeted  by  the  Mayor, 
who  was  one  of  the  executors  of  Michael  Turley 's  will, 
a  shiver  passed  through  Askatoon,  and  for  one  instant 
animation  was  suspended ;  for  the  jungle-looking  new- 
comer, motioning  forward  the  young  girl,  said  to  the 
Mayor : 

"  Mayor,  this  is  Mrs.  Mazarine.  Shake  hands  with 
the  Mayor,  Mrs.  Mazarine." 

Mazarine  did  not  speak  very  loud,  but  as  an  animal 
senses  the  truth  of  a  danger  far  off  with  an  unshakable 
certainty,  the  crowd  at  the  station  seemed  to  know  by 
instinct  what  he  said. 


THE  MAZARINES  TAKE  POSSESSION        n 

"  Hell — that  old  whale  and  her !  "  growled  Jonas 
Billings,  the  keeper  of  the  livery-stable. 

At  Mazarine's  words  the  Young  Doctor,  a  man  of  rare 
gifts,  individuality  and  authority  in  the  place,  who  had 
come  to  the  station  to  see  a  patient  off  to  the  mountains 
by  this  train,  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  as  though  a 
spirit  of  repugnance  was  in  his  heart.  This  happened 
during  the  first  years  of  the  Young  Doctor's  career  at 
Askatoon,  when  he  was  still  alive  with  human  prejudices, 
although  he  had  a  nature  well  balanced  and  singularly 
just.  The  strife  between  his  prejudices  and  his  sense  of 
justice  was  what  made  him  always  interesting  in  all  the 
great  prairie  and  foothill  country  of  which  Askatoon  was 
the  center. 

He  had  got  his  shock,  indeed,  before  Mazarine  had 
introduced  his  wife  to  the  Mayor.  Not  for  nothing  had 
he  studied  the  human  mind  in  its  relation  to  the  human 
body,  and  the  expression  of  that  mind  speaking  through 
the  body.  The  instant  Joel  Mazarine  and  his  wife  stepped 
out  of  the  train,  he  knew  they  were  what  they  were  to 
each  other.  That  was  a  real  achievement  in  knowledge, 
because  Mazarine  was  certainly  sixty-five  if  he  was  a  day, 
and  his  wife  was  a  slim,  willowy  slip  of  a  girl,  not  more 
than  nineteen  years  of  age,  with  the  most  wonderful 
Irish  blue  eyes  and  long  dark  lashes.  There  was  nothing 
of  the  wife  or  woman  about  her,  save  something  in  the 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  ages  past  and  gone,  some- 
thing so  solemnly  wise,  yet  so  painfully  confused,  that 
there  flashed  into  the  Young  Doctor's  mind  at  first  glance 
of  her  the  vision  of  a  young  bird  caught  from  its  thought- 
less, sun-bright  journeyings,  its  reckless  freedom  oif 
winged  life,  into  the  captivity  of  a  cage. 

She  smiled,  this  child,  as  she  shook  hand?  ^h  the 


12  WILD  YOUTH 

Mayor,  and  it  had  the  appeal  of  one  who  had  learned 
the  value  of  smiling — as  though  it  answered  many  a 
question  and  took  the  place  of  words  and  the  trials  of 
the  tongue.  It  was  pitifully  mechanical.  As  the  Young 
Doctor  saw,  it  was  the  smile  of  a  captive  in  a  strange 
uncomprehended  world,  more  a  dream  than  a  reality. 

"  Mrs.  Mazarine,  welcome,"  said  the  Mayor  after  an 
abashed  pause.  "  We're  proud  of  this  town,  but  we'll  be 
prouder  still,  now  you've  come." 

The  girl-wife  smiled  again.  At  the  same  time  it  was 
as  though  she  glanced  apprehensively  out  of  the  corner 
of  her  eye  at  the  old  man  by  her  side,  as  she  said : 

"  Thank  you.  There  seems  to  be  plenty  of  room  for 
us  out  here,  so  we  needn't  get  in  each  other's  way.  .  .  . 
I've  never  been  on  the  prairie  before,"  she  added. 

The  Young  Doctor  realized  that  her  reply  had  mean- 
ings which  would  escape  the  understanding  of  the  Mayor, 
and  her  'apprehensive  glance  'had  told  him  of  the  grue- 
some jealousy  of  this  old  man  at  her  side.  The  Mayor's 
polite  words  had  caused  the  long,  clean-shaven  upper  lip 
of  the  old  onan  with  the  look  of  a  debauched  prophet  to 
lengthen  surlily ;  and  he  noticed  that  a  wide,  flat  foot  in 
a  big  knee-boot,  insi'de  trousers  too  short,  tapped  the 
ground  impatiently. 

"  We  must  be  getting  out  to  Tralee,"  said  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  force  its  way  through  bronchial  obstructions. 
"  Come,  Mrs.  Mazarine." 

He  laid  a  big,  flat,  tropical  hand,  which  gave  the  im- 
pression of  being  splayed,  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  The 
gallant  words  of  the  Mayor — a  chivalrous  mountain-man 
— had  set  dark  elements  working.  As  the  new  master  of 
irav>,»  stepped  forward,  the  Young  Doctor  could  not 
help  noticing  hovv  large  and  hairy  were  the  ears  that  stood 


THE  MAZARINES  TAKE  POSSESSION       13 

far  out  from  the  devilish  head.  It  wias  a  huge,  steel- 
twisted,  primitive  man,  who  somehow  gave  the  impression 
of  a  gorilla.  The  face  was  repulsive  in  its  combination 
of  surly  smugness,  as  shown  by  the  long  upper  lip,  by 
a  repellent  darkness  round  the  small,  furtive  eyes,  by 
a  hardness  in  the  huge,  bearded  jaw,  and  by  a  mouth 
of  primary  animalism. 

The  Mayor  caught  sight  of  the  Young  Doctor,  and  he 
stopped  the  incongruous  pair  as  they  moved  to  the  station 
doorway,  the  girl  in  front,  as  though  driven. 

"Mr.  Mazarine,  you've  got  to  know  the  man  who 
counts  for  more  in  Askatoon  than  anybody  else ;  Doctor, 
you've  got  to  know  Mr.  Mazarine,"  said  the  generous 
Mayor, 

Repugnance  was  in  full  possession  of  the  Young 
Doctor,  but  he  was  scientific  and  he  was  philosophic,  if 
nothing  else.  He  shook  hands  with  Mazarine  deliber- 
ately. If  he  could  prevent  it,  there  should  be,  where  he 
was  concerned,  no  jealousy,  such  as  Mazarine  had  shown 
towards  the  Mayor,  in  connection  with  this  helpless,  ex- 
quisite creature  in  the  grip  of  hard  fate.  Shaking  hands 
with  the  girl  with  only  a  friendly  politeness  in  his  glance, 
he  felt  a  sudden,  eager,  clinging  clasp  of  her  fingers.  It 
was  like  lightning1,  and  gone  like  lightning,  as  was  the  look 
that  flashed  between  them.  Somehow  the  girl  instinctively 
felt  the  nature  of  the  man,  and  in  spirit  flew  to  him  for 
protection.  No  one  saw  the  swift  look,  and  in  it  there 
was  nothing  which  spoke  of  youth  or  heart,  of  the  feeling 
of  man  for  woman  nor  woman  for  man;  but  only  the 
longing  for  help  on  the  girl's  part,  undefined  as  it  was. 
On  the  man's  part  there  was  a  soul  whose  gift  and  duty- 
were  healing.  As  the  two  passed  on,  the  Young  Doctor 
looked  around  him  at  the  exclaiming  crowd,  for  few  had 


14  WILD  YOUTH 

left  the  station  when  the  train  rolled  out.  Curiosity  was 
an  obsession  with  the  people  of  Askatoon. 

"  Well,  I  never ! "  said  round-faced  Mrs.  Skinner, 
with  huge  hips  and  gray  curls.  "  Did  you  ever  see  the 
like?" 

"  I  call  it  a  shame,"  declared  an  indignant  young 
woman,  gripping  tighter  the  hand  of  her  little  child,  the 
daughter  of  a  young  butcher  of  twenty-three  years  of  age. 

"  Poor  lamb !  "  another  motherly  voice  said. 

"  She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself — money,  I  sup- 
pose," sneered  Ellen  Banner,  a  sour-faced  shopkeeper's 
daughter,  who  had  taught  in  Sunday  school  for  twenty 
years  and  was  still  single. 

"  Beauty  and  the  beast,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor 
to  himself,  as  he  saw  the  two  drive  away,  Patsy  Ker- 
naghan  running  beside  the  wagon,  evidently  trying  to 
make  friends  with  the  mastodon  of  Tralee. 


CHAPTER  II 

"MY  NAME  IS  LOUISE" 

ASKATOON  never  included  the  Mazarines  in  its  social 
scheme.  Certainly  Tralee  was  some  distance  from  the 
town,  but,  apart  from  that,  the  new-comers  remained 
incongruous,  alien  and  alone.  The  handsome,  inanimate 
girl-wife  never  appeared  by  herself  in  the  streets  of 
Askatoon,  but  always  in  the  company  of  her  morose 
husband,  whose  only  human  association  seemed  to  'be  his 
membership  in  the  Methodist  body  so  prominent  in  the 
town.  Every  Sunday  morning  he  tied  his  pair  of  bay 
horses  with  the  covered  buggy  to  the  hitching-post  in  the 
church-shed  and  marched  his  wife  to  the  very  front  seat 
in  the  Meeting  House,  having  taken  possession  of  it  on 
his  first  visit,  as  though  it  had  no  other  claimants.  Subse- 
quently he  held  it  in  almost  solitary  control,  because  other 
members  of  the  congregation,  feeling  his  repugnance  to 
companionship,  gave  him  the  isolation  he  wished.  As  a 
rule  he  and  his  wife  left  the  building  before  the  last  hymn 
was  sung,  so  avoiding  conversation.  Now  and  again  he 
stayed  to  a  prayer-meeting  and,  doing  so,  invariably 
"led  in  prayer,"  to  a  very  limited  chorus  of  "Amens." 
For  in  spite  of  the  position  which  Tralee  conferred  on  its 
owner,  there  was  a  natural  shrinking  from  "that  wild 
boar,"  as  outspoken  Sister  Skinner  called  him  in  the 
presence  of  the  puzzled  and  troubled  Minister. 

This  was  always  a  time  of  pained  confusion  for  the 
girl-wife.  She  had  never  "  got  religion,"  and  there  was 
something  startling  to  her  undeveloped  nature  in  the 
thunderous  apostrophes,  in  terms  of  the  oldest  part  of  the 

IS 


16  WILD  YOUTH 

Old  Testament,  used  by  her  tyrant  when  he  wrestled 
with  the  Lord  in  prayer. 

These  were  perhaps  the  only  times  when  her  face  was 
the  mirror  of  her  confused,  vague  and  troubled  youth. 
Captive  in  a  world  bounded  by  a  man's  will,  she  simply 
did  not  begin  to  understand  this  strange  and  overpowering 
creature  who  had  taken  possession  of  her  body,  mind  and 
soul.  She  trembled  and  hesitated  before  every  cave  of 
mystery  which  her  daily  life  with  him  opened  darkly  to 
her  abashed  eyes.  She  felt  herself  going  round  and 
round  and  round  in  a  circle,  not  forlorn  enough  to  rebel 
or  break  away,  but  dazed  and  wondering  and  shrinking. 
She  was  like  one  robbed  of  will,  made  mechanical  by  a 
stern  conformity  to  imposed  rules  of  life  and  conduct. 
There  were  women  in  Askatoon  who1  were  sorry  for  her 
and  made  efforts  to  get  near  her ;  but  whether  it  was  the 
Methodist  Minister  or  his  wife,  or  the  most  voluble  sister 
of  the  prayer-meeting,  none  got  beyond  the  threshold  of 
Tralee,  as  it  were. 

The  girl-wife  abashed  them.  She  was  as  one  wjho 
automatically  spoke  as  she  was  told  to  speak,  did  what 
she  was  told  to  do.  Yet  she  always  smiled  at  the  visitors 
when  they  came,  or  when  she  saw  them  and  others  at 
the  Meeting  House.  It  was,  however,  not  a  smile  for  an 
individual,  whoever  that  individual  might  chance  to  be. 
It  was  only  the  kindness  of  her  nature  expressing  itself. 
Talking  seemed  like  the  exercise  of  a  foreign  language  to 
her,  but  her  smiling  was  free  and  unconstrained,  and  it 
belonged  to  all,  without  selection. 

The  Young  Doctor,  looking  at  her  one  day  as  she  sat 
in  a  buggy  while  her  monster-man  was  inside  the  chemist's 
shop,  said  to  himself: 

"  Sterilized !    Absolutely,  shamefully  sterilized !    But 


"MY  NAME  IS  LOUISE"  17 

suppose  she  wakes  up  suddenly  out  of  that  dream  between 
life  and  death — what  will  happen  ?  " 

He  remembered  that  curious,  sudden,  delicate  catch  of 
his  palm  on  the  'day  when  they  first  shook  hands  at  the 
railway-station,  and  to  him  it  was  like  the  flutter  of  life 
in  a  thing  which  seemed  dead.  How  often  he  had  noticed 
it  in  man  and  animal  on  the  verge  of  extinction !  He  had 
not  mlistaken  that  fluttering  appeal  of  her  fingers.  He 
was  young  enough  to  translate  it  into  flattering  terms  of 
emotion,  but  he  <iid  not  do  so.  He  was  fancy-free  him- 
self, and  the  time  would  come  when  he  would  do  a 
tremendous  thing  where  a  woman  was  concerned,  a  woman 
in  something  the  same  position  as  this  poor  girl ;  but  that 
shaking,  thrilling  thing  was  still  far  off  from  him.  For 
this  child  he  only  felt  the  healer's  desire  to  heal. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who  never  force  an  issue ; 
he  never  put  forward  the  hands  of  the  clock.  He  felt 
that  sooner  or  later  Louise  Mazarine — he  did  not  yet 
know  her  Christian  name — would  comlmand  his  help,  as 
so  many  had  done  in  that  prairie  country,  and  not  neces- 
sarily for  relief  of  physical  pain  or  the  curing  of  disease. 
He  had  helped  as  many  men  and  women  mentally  and 
morally  as  physically;  the  spirit  of  healing  was  behind 
Everything  he  did.  His  world  recognized  it,  and  that 
.was  why  he  was  never  known  by  his  name  in  all  the  district 
— he  was  only  admiringly  called  "  The  Young  Doctor." 

He  had  never  been  to  Tralee  since  the  Mazarines  had 
arrived,  though  he  had  passed  it  often  and  had  sometimes 
seen  Louise  in  the  garden  with  her  dog,  her  black  cat 
and  her  bright  canary.  The  combination  of  the  cat  and 
the  canary  did  not  seem  incongruous  where  she  was  con- 
cerned; it  was  as  though  something  in  her  passionless 
self  neutralized  even  the  antagonisms  of  natural  history. 


18  WILD  YOUTH 

She  had  made  the  gloomy  black  cat  and  the  light-hearted 
canary  to  be  friends.  Perhaps  that  came  from  an  ever- 
lasting patience  which  her  life  had  bred  in  her;  perhaps 
it  was  the  powerful  gift  of  one  in  touch  with  the  remote, 
primitive  things. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  also  seen  her  in  the  paddock 
with  the  horses,  bare-headed,  lithe  and  so  girlishly  slim, 
with  none  of  the  unmistakable  if  elusive  lines  belonging 
to  the  maturity  which  marriage  brings.  He  had  taken  oflE 
his  hat  to  her  in  the  distance,  but  she  had  never  waved  a 
ihand  in  reply.  She  only  stood  and  gazed  at  him,  and  her 
look  followed  him  long  after  fie  passed  by.  He  knew  well 
that  in  the  gaze  was  nothing  of  the  interest  which  a  woman 
feels  in  a  man ;  it  was  the  look  of  one  chained  to  a  rock, 
who  sees  a  Samaritan  in  the  cheerless  distance. 

In  the  daily  round  of  her  life  she  was  always  busy ;  not 
restlessly,  but  constantly,  and  always  silently,  busy.  She 
was  even  more  silent  than  her  laconic  half-breed  .hired 
woman,  Raida.  There  was  no  talk  with  <her  gloating 
husband  which  was  not  monosyllabic.  Her  canary  sang, 
but  no  music  ever  broke  from  her  own  lips.  She  mur- 
mured over  her  lovely  yellow  companion;  she  kissed  it, 
pleaded  with  it  for  more  song,  but  the  only  music  at  her 
own  lips  was  the  occasional  music  of  her  voice ;  and  it  had 
a  colorless  quality  which,  though  gentle,  had  none  of  the 
eloquence  and  warmth  of  youth. 

In  form  and  feature  she  was  one  made  for  emotion  and 
demonstration,  and  the  passionate  play  of  the  innocent 
enterprises  of  wild  youth ;  but  there  was  nothing  of  that 
in  her.  Gray  age  had  drunk  her  life  and  had  given  her 
nothing  in  return — neither  companionship  nor  sympathy 
nor  understanding ;  only  the  hunger  of  a  coarse  manhood. 
Her  obedience  to  the  supreme  will  of  her  jealous  jailer 

r 


"MY  NAME  IS  LOUISE"  19 

gave  no  ground  for  scolding  or  reproach,  and  that  saved 
her  mudi.  She  was  even  quietly  cheerful,  but  it  w£s  only 
the  pale  reflection  of  a  lost  youth  which  would  have  been 
buoyant  and  gallant,  gay  and  glad,  had  it  been  given  the 
natural  tiling  in  the  natural  world. 

There  came  a  day,  however,  when  the  long,  unchang- 
ing routine,  gray  with  prison  grayness,  was  broken ;  when 
the  round  of  household  duties  and  the  prison  discipline 
were  interrupted.  It  was  as  sudden  as  a  storm  in  the 
tropics,  as  final  and  as  fateful  as  birth  or  death.  That  day 
She  was  taken  suddenly  and  acutely  ill.  It  was  only  a 
temporary  malady,  an  agonizing  pain  which  had  its  origin 
in  a  sudden  chill.  This  chill  was  due,  as  the  Young  Doctor 
knew  when  he  came,  to  'a  vitality  which  did  not  renew 
itself,  which  got  nothing  from  the  life  to  which  it  was 
sealed,  which  for  some  reason  could  not  absorb  energy 
from  the  stinging,  vital  life  of  the  prairie  world  in  the 
June-time. 

In  her  sudden  anguish,  and  in  the  absence  of  Joel 
Mazarine,  she  sent  for  the  Young  Doctor.  That  in  itself 
was  courageous,  because  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what 
view  the  master  of  Tralee  would  take  of  her  action,  ill 
though  she  was.  She  was  not  supposed  to  exercise  'her 
will.  If  Joel  Mazarine  had  been  at  home,  he  would  have 
sent  for  wheezy,  decrepit  old  Doctor  Censing1,  whose 
practice  the  Young  Doctor  had  completely  absorbed  over 
a  series  of  years. 

But  the  Young  Doctor  came.  Rada,  the  half-breed 
woman,  had  undressed  Louise  and  put  her  to  bed ;  and 
he  found  her  white  as  snow  at  the  end  of  a  paroxysm  of 
pain,  her  long  eyelashes  lying  on  a  cheek  as  smooth  as 
a  piece  of  Satsuma  ware  \\thich  has  had  the  loving  polish 
of  ten  thousand  friendly  fingers  over  innumerable  years. 


20  WILD  YOUTH 

When  he  came  and  stood  beside  her  bed,  she  put  out  her 
hand  slowly  towards  him.  As  he  took  it  in  his  firm,  reas- 
suring grasp,  he  felt  the  same  fluttering  appeal  which  had 
marked  their  hand-clasp  on  the  day  of  their  first  meeting 
at  the  railway-station.  Looking  at  the  huge  bed  and  the 
rancher- farmer's  coarse  clothes  hanging  on  pegs,  the 
big  greased  boots  against  the  wall,  a  sudden  savage  feeling 
of  disgust  and  anger  took  hold  of  him;  but  the  spirit  of 
healing  at  once  emerged,  and  he  concentrated  himself 
upon  the  instant  duty  before  himl 

For  a  whole  hour  he  worked  with  her,  and  at  length 
subdued  the  convulsions  of  pain  which  distorted  the 
beautiful  face  and  made  the  childlike  body  writhe.  He 
had  a  resentment  against  the  crime  which  <had  been  com- 
mitted. Marriage  had  not  made  her  into  a  woman ;  it 
had  driven  her  back  into  an  arrested  youth.  It  was  as 
though  she  ought  to  have  worn  short  skirts  and  her  hair 
in  a  long  braid  down  her  back.  Hers  was  the  body  of  a 
young  boy.  When  she  was  free  from  pain,  and  the  color 
had  come  back  to  her  cheeks  a  little,  she  smiled  at  him, 
and  was  about  to  put  out  her  hand  as  a  child  anight  to  a 
brother  or  a  father,  when  suddenly  a  shadow  stole  into 
her  eyes  and  crept  across  her  face,  and  she  drew  her 
clenched  hand  close  to  her  body.  Still,  she  tried  to  smile 
at  him. 

His  quiet,  impersonal,  though  friendly  look  soothed 
her. 

"Am  I  very  sick  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  "  You'll  be  all  right 
to-morrow,  I  hope." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  she  remarked.  "  I  would  like  to 
be  so  sick  that  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  else.  My 
father  used  to  say  that  the  world  was  only  the  size  of  four 
walls  to  a  sick  person." 


"MY  NAME  IS  LOUISE"  21 

"  I  can't  promise  you  so  small  a  world,"  remarked  the 
Young  Doctor  with  a  kind  smile,  his  arm  resting  on  the 
side  of  the  bed,  his  chair  drawn  alongside.  "  You  will 
have  to  face  the  whole  universe  to-morrow,  same  as  ever." 

She  looked  perplexed  a  moment  and  then  said  to  him : 
"  I  used  to  think  it  was  a  beautiful  world,  and  they  try 
to  make  me  think  it  is  yet ;  but  it  isn't." 

"  Wiho  try  to  make  you  ?  "  lie  asked. 

"  Oh,  my  bird  Richard,  and  Nigger  the  black  cat,  and 
Jumbo,  the  dog,"  she  replied. 

Her  eyes  closed,  then  opened  strangely  wide  upon  him 
in  an  eager,  staring  appeal. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  about  me?"  she  asked. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you — I  want  to  tell  you.  I'm  tired  of 
telling  it  all  over  to  myself." 

The  Young  Doctor  did  not  want  to  know.  As  a  doctor 
he  did  not  want  to  know1. 

"  Not  now,"  he  said  firmly.  "  Tell  me  when  I  come 
again." 

A  look  of  pain  came  into  her  face.  "  But  who  can  tell 
when  you'll  come  again !  "  she  pleaded. 

"  When  I  will  things  to  be,  they  generally  happen,"  he 
answered  in  a  commonplace  tone.  "  You  are  my  patient 
now,  and  I  must  keep  an  eye  on  you.  So  I'll  come." 

Again,  with  an  almost  spasmodical  movement  towards 
him,  she  said : 

"  I  must  tell  you.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  the  first  day 
I  saw  you.  You  seemed  the  same  kind  of  man  my  father 
was.  My  name's  Louise.  It  was  my  mother  made  trie 
do  it.  There  was  a  mortgage — I  was  only  sixteen.  It's 
three  years  ago.  He  said  to  my  mother  he'd  tear  up  the 
mortgage  if  I  married  him.  That's  why  I'm  here  with 
him — Mrs.  Mazarine.  But  my  name's  Louise." 


22  WILD  YOUTH 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  the  Young  Doctor  answered 
soothingly.  "  But  you  must  not  talk  of  it  now.  I  under- 
stand perfectly.  Tell  me  all  about  it  another  time." 

"  You  don't  think  I  should  have "    She  paused. 

"  Of  course.  I  tell  you  I  understand.  Now  you  must 
be  quiet.  Drink  this."  He  got  up  and  poured  some  liquid 
into  a  glass. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  noise  below  in  the  hall. 

"  That's  my  (husband,"  the  girl-wife  said,  and  the  old 
wan  captive-look  came  into  her  face. 

"  That's  all  right,"  replied  the  Young  Doctor.  "  He'll 
find  you  better." 

At  that  moment  the  half-breed  woman  entered  the 
room.  "  He's  here,"  she  said,  and  came  towards  the  bed. 

"  That  old  woman  has  sense,"  the  Young  Doctor  mur- 
mured to  himself.  "  She  knows  her  man." 

A  minute  later  Joel  Mazarine  was  in  the  room,  and 
he  saw  the  half-breed  woman  lift  his  wife's  head,  while 
the  Young  Doctor  held  a  glass  to  her  lips. 

"What's  all  this?"  Mazarine  said  roughly. 

"Wihat ?"  He  stopped  suddenly,  for  the  Young 

Doctor  faced  him  sharply. 

"  She  must  be  left  alone,"  He  said  firmly  and  quietly, 
his  eyes  fastening  the  old  man's  eyes ;  and  there  was  that 
in  them  "which  would  not  be  gainsaid.  "  I  have  just 
given  her  medicine.  She  has  ibeen  in  great  pain.  We  are 
not  needed  here  now."  He  motioned  towards  the  door. 
"  She  must  be  left  alone." 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  that  the  old  man  was  going 
to  resist  the  dictation ;  but  presently,  after  a  scrutinizing 
look  at  the  still,  shrinking  figure  in  the  bed,  he  swung 
round,  left  the  room  and  descended  the  stairs,  the  Young 
Doctor  following. 


CHAPTER  III 
"I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS  AT  EPHESUS" 

THE  old  man  led  the  way  outside  the  house,  as  though 
to  be  rid  of  his  visitor  as  soon  as  possible.  This  was 
so  obvious  that,  for  an  instant,  the  Young  Doctor  was 
disposed  ito  try  conclusions  with  the  old  slaver,  and  sum- 
mon him  back  to  the  dining  room.  The  Mazarine  sort  of 
man  always  roused  fighting,  .masterful  forces  in  him. 
He  was  never  averse  to  a  contest  of  wills,  and  he  had  'had 
much  of  it ;  it  was  inseparable  from  his  methods  of  healing. 
He  knew  that  nine  people  out  of  ten  never  gave  a  true 
history  of  their  physical  troubles,  never  told  their  whole 
story:  first  because  they  had  no  gift  for  reporting,  no 
observation ;  and  also  because  the  physical  ailments  of 
many  of  them  were  aggravated  or  induced  by  mental 
anxieties.  Then  it  was  that  he  imposed  (himself — as  it 
Were,  fought  the  deceiver  and  his  deceit,  or  the  ignorant 
one  and  his  ignorance ;  and  numbers  of  people,  under  his 
sympathetic,  wordless  inquiry,  poured  their  troubles  into 
his  ears,  as  the  girl-wife  upstairs  had  tried  to  do. 

iWhen  the  old  man  turned  to  face  him  in  the  sunlight, 
his  boots  soiled  with  dust  and  manure,  his  long  upper  lip 
feeling  about  over  the  lower  lip  and  its  shaggy  growth 
of  beard  like  some  sea-monster  feeling  for  its  prey,  the 
Young  Doctor  had  a  sensation  of  uncompromising  rancor. 
His  mind  flashed  to  that  upstairs  room,  where  a  comely 
captive  creature  was  lying  not  an  arm's-length  from  the 
coats  and  trousers  and  shabby  waistcoats  of  this  bar- 
barian. Somehow  that  row  of  tenantless  clothes,  and  the 
top-boots,  greased  with  tallow,  standing  against  the  wall, 

23 


24  WILD  YOUTH 

were  more  characteristic  of  the  situation  than  the  old 
land-leviathan  himself,  blinking  -his  beady,  greenish  eyes 
at  the  Young  Doctor.  That  everlasting  blinking  was  a 
repulsive  characteristic ;  it  was  like  serpents  gulping  live 
things. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her?  "  the  old  man  asked, 
jerking  his  head  towards  the  upper  window. 

The  Young  Doctor  explained  quickly  the  immediate 
trouble,  and  then  added : 

"  But  it  would  not  'have  taken  'hold  of  her  so  if  she  was 
not  run  down.  She  is  not  in  a  condition  to  resist.  When 
her  system  exhausts,  it  does  not  refill,  as  it  were." 

"  What  sort  of  dictionary  talk  is  that  ?  Run  down 
— here !  "  .The  old  man  sniffed  the  air  like  an  ancient 
sow.  "Run  down — in  this  life,  with  the  best  of  food, 
warm  weather,  and  more  ozone  than  a  sailor  gets  at  sea ! 
It's  an  insult  to  Jehovah,  such  nonsense."  Moroseness 
grew  with  every  word ;  the  long  upper  lip  became  more 
sulkily  active. 

"  Mr.  Mazarine,"  rejoined  the  Young  Doctor  with 
ominous  determination  in  his  eye,  "you  know  a  good 
deal,  I  should  think,  about  spring  wheat  and  fall  plough- 
ing, about  making  sows  fat,  or  burning  fallow  land — 
that's  your  trade,  and  I  shouldn't  want  to  challenge  you 
on  it  all ;  or  you  know  when  to  give  a  horse  bran-mash, 
or  a  heifer  saltpeter,  but — well,  I  know  my  job  in  the  same 
way.  They  will  tell  you,  about  here,  that  I  (have  a  kind 
of  hobby  for  keeping  people  from  digging  and  crawling 
into  their  own  graves.  That's  my  business ;  and  the  habit 
of  saving  human  life,  'because  you're  paid  for  it,  becomes 
in  time  a  habit  of  saving  human  life  for  its  very  own  sake. 
I  warn  you — and  perhaps  it's  a  matter  of  some  concern 
to  you — Mrs.  Mazarine  is  in  a  bad  way." 


"I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS"         25 

Resentful  and  incredulous,  the  old  man  was  about  to 
speak,  but  the  Young  Doctor  made  an  arresting  gesture, 
and  added: 

"  She  has  very  little  strength  to  go  on  with.  She  ought 
to  be  plump ;  her  pulses  ought  to  beat  hard ;  her  cheeks 
ought  to  be  rosy;  she  should  walk  with  a  spring  and  be 
strong  and  steady  as  a  soldier  on  the  march;  but  she  is 
none  of  these  things,  can  do  none  of  these  things.  You've 
got  a  thousand  things  to  do,  and  you  do  them  because  you 
want  to  do  them.  .There  is  something  making  new  life 
in  you  all  the  time,  but  Mrs.  Miazarine  makes  no  new  life 
as  she  goes  on.  Every  day  is  taking  something  out  of 
her,  and  there's  nothing  being  renewed.  Sometimes 
neither,  good  food  nor  ozone  is  enough ;  and  you've  got 
to  take  care,  or  you'll  lose  Mrs.  Mazarine."  He  could  not 
induce  himself  to  speak  of  her  as  "  wife." 

For  a  moment  the  unwholesome  mouth  seemed  to  be 
chewing  unpleasant  herbs,  and  the  beady  eyes  blinked 
viciously. 

"  I'm  not  swallowin'  your  meaning,"  Mazarine  said  at 
last.  "  I  never  studied  Greek.  If  a  woman  has  a  disease, 
there  it  is,  and  you  can  deal  with  it  or  not;  but  if  she 
hasn't  no  disease,  then  it's  chicanyery — chicanyery.  Doc- 
tors talk  a  lot  of  gibberish  these  here  days.  What  I  want 
to  know  is,  has  my  wife  got  a  disease?  I  haven't  seen 
any  signs.  Is  it  Bright's,  or  cancer,  or  the  lungs,  or  the 
liver,  or  the  kidneys,  or  the  heart,  or  what's  its  name?  " 

The  young  Doctor  had  an  impulse  to  flay  the  soulless 
heathen,  but  for  the  girl-wife's  sake  he  forbore. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  any  of  those  troubles,"  he  replied 
smoothly.  "  She  needs  a  thorough  examination.  But 
one  thing  is  dear:  she  is  wasting;  she  is  losing  ground 
instead  of  going  ahead.  There's  a  malignant  influence 


26  WILD  YOUTH 

working.  She's  standing  still,  and  to  stand  still  in  youth 
is  fatal  I  can  imagine  you  don't  want  to  lose  her,  eh?  " 

The  Young1  Doctor's  gray-blue  eyes  endeavored  to  hold 
the  blinking  beads  under  the  shaggy  eyebrows  long  enough 
to  get  control  of  a  mind  which  had  the  cunning  and 
cruelty  of  an  animal  possessed  by  its  own  fierce  loves 
and  passions.  He  succeeded. 

The  old  man  would  a  thousand  times  rather  his  wife 
laved  than  died.  In  the  first  place,  to  lose  her  was  to 
sacrifice  that  which  he  had  paid  for  dearly — a  mortgage 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  torn  up.  Louise  Mazarine  re- 
presented that  to  him  first — ten  thousand  dollars.  Sec- 
ondly, she  was  worth  it  in  every  way.  He  had  what 
hosts  of  others  would  be  glad  to  'have — men  younger  and 
better  looking  than  himself.  She  represented  the  triumph 
of  age.  He  had  lived  his  life ;  he  had  buried  two  wives ; 
he  had  had  children ;  he  had  made  money ;  and  yet  here, 
when  other  men  of  his  years  were  thinking  of  making  wills, 
and  eating  porridge,  and  waiting  for  the  Dark  Policemlan 
to  come  and  arrest  them1  for  loitering,  he  was  left  a 
magnificent  piece  of  property  like  Tralee ;  and  he  had  all 
the  sources  of  pleasure  open  to  a  young  man  walking 
the  primrose  path.  He  was  living  right  up  to  the  last. 
Both  his  wives  were  gray-headed  when  they  died — it 
turned  them  gray  to  live  with  him ;  both  had  died  before 
they  were  fifty;  and  here  he  was  the  sole  owner  of  a 
wonderful  young  head,  with  hair  that  reached  to  the 
waist,  with  lips  like  cool  fruit  from  an  orchard-tree,  and 
the  indescribable  charm  of  youth  and  loveliness  which 
the  young  themselves  never  really  understand.  That  was 
what  he  used  to  say  to  himself:  it  was  only  age  could 
appreciate  youth  and  beauty ;  youth  did  not  understand. 

Thus  the  Young  Doctor's  question  roused  in  him  somp- 


"I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS"         27 

thing  at  once  savage  and  apprehensive.  Of  course  he 
wanted  Louise  to  live.  Why  should  she  not  live? 

"  Doesn't  any  husband  want  his  wife  to  live ! "  he 
answered  sullenly.  "  But  I  want  to  know  what  ails  her. 
What  medicine  you  'going  to  give  Iher?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  Young  Doctor  replied  medita- 
tively. "  When  she  is  quite  rid  of  this  attack,  I'll  examine 
her  again  and  let  you  know." 

Suddenly  there  shot  into  the  greenish  old  eyes  a  red- 
dish look  of  rage;  jealousy,  horrible,  gruesome  jealousy, 
took  possession  of  Joel  Mazarine.  This  young  man  to 

come  in  and  go  out  of  his  wife's  bedroom,  to Why 

weren't  there  women  doctors?  He  would  get  one  over 
from  the  Coast  or  from  Winnipeg,  or  else  there  was  old 
Doctor  Gensing,  in  Askatoon — who  was  seventy-five  at 
least  He  would  call  him  in  and  get  rid  of  this  offensive 
young  pill-maker. 

"  I  don't  'believe  there's  anything  the  matter  with  her," 
he  declared  stubbornly.  "  She's  been  healthy  as  a  woman 
can  'be,  living  this  life  here.  What's  her  disease  ?  I've 
asked  you.  What  is  it?  " 

The  other  laid  a  hand  on  himself,  and  in  the  colorless 
voice  of  the  expert,  said :  "  Old  age — that's  her  trouble, 
so  far  as  I  can  see." 

He  paused,  foreseeing  the  ferocious  look  which  swept 
into  the  repulsive  face,  and  *he  clenching  of  the  big,  splay- 
like  hands.  Then  in  a  soothing,  reflective  kind  of  voice 
he  added : 

"  Senile  decay — you  know  all  about  that.  Well,  now, 
it  happens  sometimes — not  often,  but  it  does  'happen  some- 
times— that  a  very  young  person  for  some  cause  or  an- 
other suffers  from  senile  decay.  Some  terrible  leakage 


28  WILD  YOUTH 

of  youth  occurs.  It  has  been  cured,  though,  and  I've 
cured  one  or  two  cases  myself." 

He  was  almost  prevaricating — but  in  a  good  cause. 
"  Mrs.  Mazarine's  is  a  case  which  can  be  cured,  I  think," 
he  continued.  "As  you've  remarked,  Mr.  Mazarine  " — 
his  voice  was  now  persuasive — "  here  is  fine  air,  and  a 
good,  comfortable  home " 

Suddenly  he  broke  off,  and  as  though  in  innocent  in- 
quiry said:  "Now,  has  she  too  much  to  do?  Has  she 
sufficient  help  in  the  house  for  one  so  young?  " 

"  She  doesn't  do  more  than's  good  for  her,"  answered 
the  old  man,  "  and  there's  the  half-breed  hired  critter — 
you've  seen  her — and  Li  Choo,  a  Chinaman,  too.  That 
ought  to  be  enough,"  he  added  scornfully. 

The  Young  Doctor  seemed  to  reflect,  and  his  face  be- 
came urbane,  because  he  saw  he  must  proceed  warily, 
if  he  was  to  be  of  service  to  his  new  patient. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  emphatically,  "  she  appears  to  have 
help  enough.  I  must  think  over  her  case  and  see  her  again 
to-morrow." 

The  old  man's  look  suddenly  darkened.  "Ain't  she 
better?  "  he  asked. 

"  She's  not  so  much  better  that  there's  no  danger  of 
her  being1  worse,"  the  Young  Doctor  replied  decisively. 
"  I  certainly  must  see  her  to-morrow." 

"Why,"  the  old  man  remarked,  waving  his  splayed 
hand  up  and  down  in  a  gesture  of  emphasis,  "  she's  never 
been  sick.  She's  in  and  out  of  this  house  all  day.  She 
goes  about  with  her  animals  like  as  if  she  hadn't  a  care 
or  an  ache  or  pain  in  the  world.  I've  heard  of  women 
that  fancied  they  was  sick  because  they  hadn't  too  miudh  to 
do,  and  was  too  well  off,  and  was  treated  too  well.  High- 
sterics,  they  call  it.  Lots  of  women,  lots  and  lots  of  them, 


"I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS"         29 

would  be  glad  to  have  sudi  a  home  as  this,  and  would 
stay  healthy  in  it." 

The  Young  Doctor  felt  he  had  made  headway,  and  he 
let  it  go  at  that.  It  was  clear  he  was  to  be  permitted  to 
come  to-morrow.  "  Yes,  it's  a  fine  place,"  he  replied  con- 
vincingly. "  Three  thousand  acres  is  a  mighty  big  place 
wihen  you've  got  farm-land  as  well  as  cattle-grazing." 

"  It's  nearly  all  good  farm-land,"  answered  the  old  man. 
with  decision.  "I  don't  believe  much  in  ranching  or 
cattle.  I'm  for  the  plough  and  the  wheat.  There's  more 
danger  from  cattle  disease  than  fromi  bad  crops.  I'm 
getting  rid  of  my  cattle.  I  expect  to  sell  a  lot  of  'em 
to-day."  An  avaricious  smile  of  satisfaction  drew  down 
the  corners  of  his  lips.  "  I've  got  a  good  customer.  He 
ought  to  be  on  the  trail  now."  He  drew  out  a  huge  silver 
watch.  "Yes,  he's  due.  The  party's  a  foreigner,  I 
believe.  He  lives  over  at  Slow  Down  Ranch — got  a 
French  name." 

"Oh,  Giggles !  "  said  the  Young  Doctor  with  a  quick 
smile. 

The  old  man  shook  his  hippopotamus  (head :  "  No, 
that  ain't  the  name.  It's  Guise — Orlando  Guise  is  the 
name." 

"  Same  thing,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor.  "  They 
call  him  Giggles  for  short.  You've  seen  him  of  course  ?  " 

"  No,  I've  ibeen  dealing  with  him)  so  far  through  a  third 
party.  Why's  he  called  Giggles?"  asked  the  Master  of 
Tralee. 

"  Well,  you'll  know  when  you  see  him.  He's  not  cut 
according  to  everybody's  measure.  If  you're  dealing  with 
him,  don't  think  him  a  fool  because  'he  chirrups,  and  don't 
size  him  up  according  to  his  looks.  He's  a  dude.  Some 


30 ;  WILD  YOUTH 

call  him  The  Duke,  but  mostly  he's  known  as  Giggles." 

"  Fools  weary  me,"  grumbled  the  other. 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  you  mustn't  begin  dealing  with  him 
on  the  basis  of  his  looks.  Looks  don't  often  tell  the  truth. 
For  instance,  you're  known  as  a  Christian  and  a  Metho- 
dist ! "  He  looked  the  old  man  slowly  up  and  down, 
and  in  anyone  else  it  would  have  seemed  gross  insolence, 
but  the  urbane  smile  at  his  lips  belied  the  malice  of  his 
words.  "  Well,  you  know  you  don't  look  like  a  Methodist. 
You  look  like  " — innocence  showed  in  his  eye ;  there  was 
no  ulterior  purpose  in  his  face — "  you  look  like  one  of 
the  bad  McMahon  lot  of  claim-jumpers  over  there  in 
the  foothills.  I  suppose  that  seems  so,  only  because  ranch- 
men aren't  generally  pious.  Well,  in  the  same  way, 
Giggles  doesn't  really  look  like  a  ranchman;  but  he's 
every  bit  as  good  a  ranchman  as  you  are  a  Christian  and 
a  Methodist!" 

The  Young  Doctor  looked  the  old  man  in  the  face  with 
such  a  semblance  of  honesty  that  he  succeeded  in  disarm- 
ing a  dangerous  suspicion  of  mockery — dangerous,  if  he 
was  to  continue  family  physician  at  Tralee.  "Ah,"  he 
suddenly  remarked,  "  there  comes  Orlando  now ! "  He 
pointed  to  a  spot  about  half  a  mile  away,  where  a  horse- 
man could  be  seen  cantering  slowly  towards  Tralee. 

A  moment  afterwards,  from  his  buggy,  the  Young 
Doctor  said:  "Mrs.  Mazarine  must  be  left  alone  until 
I  see  her  again.  She  must  not  be  disturbed.  The  half- 
breed  woman  can  look  after  her.  I've  told  her  wfliat  to 
do.  You'll  keep  to  another  room,  of  course." 

"  There's  a  bunk  in  that  room  where  I  could  sleep," 
said  the  other,  with  a  note  of  protest. 

"  I'm  afraid  that,  in  our  patient's  interest,  you  must 
do  what  I  say,"  the  other  insisted  with  a  friendly  smile 


"I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS"         31 

Which  caused  him  a  great  effort.  "  If  I  make  her  bloom, 
again,  that  will  suit  you,  won't  it  ?  " 

A  look  of  gloating  came  into  the  behemoth's  eyes: 
"  Let  it  go  at  that,"  he  said.  "  Mebbe  I'll  take  her  over 
to  the  sea  before  the  wheat-harvest." 

Out  on  the  Askatoon  trail,  the  Young  Doctor  rumi- 
nated over  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  at  Tralee. 

"  That  old  geezer  will  get  an  awful  jolt  one  day,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  If  that  girl  should  wake !  Her  eyes — 
if  somebody  comes  along  and  draWs  the  curtains !  She 
hasn't  the  least  idea  of  where  she  is  or  what  it  all  means. 
All  she  knows  is  that  she's  a  prisoner  in  some  strange, 
savage  country  and  doesn't  know  its  language  or  anybody 
at  all — as  though  she'd  lost  'her  memory.  Any  fellow, 
young,  handsome  and  with  enough  dash  and  color  to  make 
him  romantic  could  do  it.  ...  Poor  little  robin  in  the 
snow !  "  he  added,  and  looked  back  towards  Tralee. 

As  he  did  so,  the  man  from  Slow  Down  Ranch  can- 
tering towards  Tralee  caught  his  eye. 

"Louise — Orlando,"  he  said  musingly;  then,  with  a 
sudden  flick  of  the  reins  on  his  horse's  back,  he  added 
abruptly,  almost  sternly,  "  By  the  great  horn  spoons, 
no!" 

Thus,  when  his  prophecy  took  concrete  form,  he  re- 
volted from  it.  A  grave  look  came  into  his  face. 


CHAPTER  IV 
TWO  £IDES  TO  A  BARGAIN 

As  the  Young  Doctor  had  said,  Orlando  Guise  did  not 
look  like  a  real,  simon-pure  "  cowpuncher."  He  had  the 
appearance  of  being  dressed  for  the  part,  like  an  actor 
who  has  never  mounted  a  cayuse,  in  a  Wild  West  play. 
Yet  on  this  particular  day — when  the  whole  prairie  coun- 
try was  alive  with  light,  thrilling  with  elixir  from  the 
bottle  of  old  Eden's  vintage,  and  as  comfortable  as  a 
garden  where  upon  a  red  wall  the  peaches  cling — he 
seemed  far  more  than  usual  the  close-fitting,  soil-touched 
son  of  the  prairie.  His  wide  felt  hat,  turned  up  on  one 
side  like  a  trooper's,  was  well  back  on  his  head ;  his  pinkish 
brown  face  was  freely  taking  the  sun,  and  his  clear,  light- 
blue  eyes  gazed  ahead  unblinking  in  the  strong  light.  His 
forehead  was  unwrinkled — a  rare  thing  in  that  prairie 
country  where  the  dry  air  corrugates  the  skin ;  his  light- 
brown  hair  curled  loosely  on  the  brow,  graduating  back  to 
closer,  crisper  curls  which  in  their  thickness  made  a  kind 
of  furry  cap.  It  was  like  the  coat  of  a  French  poodle, 
so  glossy  and  so  companionable  was  it  to  the  head.  A 
bright  handkerchief  of  scarlet  was  tied  loosely  around  his 
throat,  which  was  even  a  little  more  bare  than  was  the 
average  ranchman's ;  and  his  thick,  much-pocketed  flannel 
shirt,  worn  in  place  of  a  waistcoat  and  coat,  was  of  a 
shade  of  red  which  contrasted  and  yet  harmonized  with 
the  scarlet  of  the  neckerchief.  He  did  not  wear  the  sheep- 
skin leggings  so  common  among  the  ranchmen  of  the  West, 
but  a  pair  of  yellowish  corduroy  riding-breeches,  with 
boots  that  laced  from  the  ankle  to  the  knee.  These  boots 
32 


TWO  SIDES  TO  A  BARGAIN  33 

had  that  touch  of  the  theatrical  which  made  him  more 
fantastic  than  original  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-citizens. 

Also  he  wore  a  ring  with  a  star-sapphire,  which  made 
him  incongruous,  showy  and  foppish,  and  that  was  a  thing 
not  easy  of  forgiveness  in  the  West.  Certainly  the  West 
would  not  have  tolerated  him  as  far  as  it  did,  had  it  not 
been  for  three  things:  the  extraordinary  good  nature 
which  made  him  giggle ;  the  fact  that  on  more  than  one; 
occasion  he  had  given  conclusive  evidence  that  he  was 
brave ;  and  the  knowledge  that  he  was  at  least  well-to-do. 
In  >a  kind  of  vague  way  people  had  come  reluctantly  to 
realize  that  his  giggles  belonged  to  a  nature  without  guile 
and  recklessly  frank. 

"  He  beats  the  band/'  Jonas  Billings,  the  livery-stable 
keeper,  had  said  of  him ;  while  Burlingame,  the  pernicious 
lawyer  of  shady  character,  had  remarked  that  he  had  the 
name  of  an  impostor  and  the  frame  of  a  fop,  but  he  wasn't 
sure  as  a  lawyer  that  he'd  seen  all  the  papers  in  the  case — 
which  was  tatamount  to  saying  that  the  Orlando  nut 
needed  some  cracking. 

It  was  generally  agreed  tihat  his  name  was  ridiculous, 
romantic  and  unreasonable.  It  seemed  to  challenge  public 
opinion.  Most  names  in  the  West  were  without  any 
picturesqueness  or  color;  they  were  commonplace  and 
almost  geometric  in  their  form,  more  like  numbers  to 
represent  people  than  things  of  character  in  themselves. 
There  were  names  semi-scriptural  and  semi-foreign  in 
Askatoon,  but  no  name  like  Orlando  Guise  had  ever  come 
that  way  before,  and  nothing  like  the  man  himself  had  ever 
ridden  the  Askatoon  trails.  One  thing  had  to  be  said, 
however ;  he  rode  the  trail  like  a  broncho-buster,  and  he 
sat  his  horse  as  though  he  had  been  born  in  the  saddle. 
On  this  particular  day,  in  spjte  of  his  garish  "  get-up,"  he 
3 


34  WILD  YOUTH 

seemed  to  belong  to  the  life  in  which  he  was  light-heartedly 
whistling  a  solo  from  one  of  Meyerbeer's  operas.  Meyer- 
beer was  certainly  incongruous  to  the  prairie,  but  it  and 
the  whistling  were  in  keeping  with  the  man  himself. 

Over  on  Slow  Down  Ranch  there  lived  a  curious  old 
lady  who  wore  a  bonnet  of  Sweet  Sixteen  of  the  time  of 
the  Crimea,  and  with  a  sense  of  color  which  would  wreck 
the  reputation  of  a  kaleidoscope.  She  it  was  who  had 
taught  her  son  Orlando  the  tunefulness  of  Meyerbeer  and 
Balfe  and  Offenbach,  and  the'operatic  jingles  of  that  type 
of  composer.  Orlando  Guise  had  comfe  by  his  outward 
showiness  naturally.  Yet  he  was  not  like  his  mother,  save 
in  this  particular.  His  mother  was  flighty  and  had  no 
sense,  while  he,  behind  the  gaiety  of  his  wardrobe  and  his 
giggles,  had  very  much  sense  of  a  quite  original  kind. 
Even  as  he  whistled  Meyerbeer,  riding  towards  Tralee,  his 
eyes  had  a  look  of  one  who  was  trying  to  see  into  things ; 
and  his  lips,  when  the  whistling  ceased,  had  a  cheerful 
pucker  which  seemed  to  show  that  he  had  seen  what  he 
wanted. 

fe  "  Wonder  if  I'll  get  a  glimpse  of  the  so-called  Mrs. 
Mazarine,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Bad  enough  to  marry  a  back- 
timer,  but  to  marry  Mazarine — they  don't  say  she's  blind, 
either!  Money — what  won't  we  do  for  money,  Mary? 
But  if  she's  as  young  as  they  say,  she  could  have  waited  a 
bit  for  the  oof-bird  to  fly  her  way.  Lots  of  men  have 
money  as  well  as  looks.  Anyhow,  I'm  ready  to  take  his 
cattle  off  his  hands  on  a  fair,  square  deal,  and  if  his  girl- 
missis  is  what  they  say,  I  wouldn't  mind " 

Having  said  this,  he  giggled  and  giggled  again  at  his 
unspoken  impertinence.  He  knew  he  had  almost  said 
something  fatuous,  but  the  suppressed  idea  appealed  to 
him,  nevertheless;  for  whatever  he  did,  he  always  had 

\ 


TWO  SIDES  TO  A  BARGAIN  35 

a  vision  of  doing  something  else ;  and  wherever  he  was, 
he  was  always  fancying  himself  to  Ibe  'Somewhere  else. 
That  was  the  strain  of  romance  in  him  which  came  from 
his  mixed  ancestry.  It  was  the  froth  and  bubble  of  a 
dreamer's  legacy,  which  had  made  his  mother,  always 
unconsciously  theatrical,  have  a  vision  of  a  life  on  the 
prairies,  with  the  white  mountains  in  the  distance,  where 
her  beloved  son  would  'be  master  of  a  vast  domain,  over 
which  he  should  ride  like  one  of  Cortez's  conquistadores. 
Having  "  money  to  burn,"  she  had,  at  a  fortunate  moment, 
bought  the  ranch  which,  by  accident,  had  done  well  from 
the  start,  and  bade  fair,  through  the  giggling  astuteness 
of  her  spectacular  son,  to  do  far  better  still  by  design. 

On  the  first  day  of  their  arrival  at  Slow  Down  Ranch, 
the  mother -had  presented  Orlando  with  a  most  magnificent 
Mexican  bridle  and  head-stall  covered  with  silver  conchs, 
and  a  saddle  with  stirrups  inlaid  with  silver.  Wherefore, 
it  was  no  wonder  that  most  people  stared  and  wondered, 
while  some  sneered  and  some  even  hated.  On  the  whole, 
however,  Orlando  Guise  was  in  the  way  of  making  a  place 
for  himself  in  the  West  in  spite  of  natural  drawbacks. 

Old  Mazarine  did  not  merely  sneer  as  he  saw  the  gay 
cavalier  approach,  he  snorted;  and  he  would  have  blas- 
phemed, if  'he  had  not  been  a  professing  Christian. 

"  Circus  rider!  "  he  said  to  himjself.  "  Wants  taking 
down  some,  and  he's  come  to  the  right  place  to  get  it." 

On  his  part,  Orlando  Guise  showed  his  dislike  of  the 
repellent  figure  by  a  brusque  giggle,  and  further  expressed 
what  was  in  his  mind  -by  the  one  word : 

"Turk!" 

His  repugnance,  however,  was  balanced  by  something 
possessing  the  old  man  still  more  disagreeable.  Like 
a  malignant  liquid,  there  crept  up  through  Joel  Mazarine's 


36  WILD  YOUTH 

body  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  the  ancient  virus  of  Cain. 
It  was  jealous,  ravenous,  grim:  old  age  hating  the  rich, 
robust,  panting  youth  of  the  man  before  him.  Was  it  that 
being  half  man,  half  beast,  he  had  some  animal  instinct 
concerning  this  young  roughrider  before  him?  Did  he 
in  some  vague,  prescient  way  associate  this  gaudy  new- 
comer with  his  girl-wife?  He  could  not  himself  have 
said.  Primitive  passions  are  corporate  of  many  feelings 
but  of  little  sight. 

As  Orlando  Guise  slid  from  his  horse,  Joel  Mazarine 
steadied  himself  and  said:  "Come  about  the  cattle? 
Ready  to  buy  and  pay  cash  down  ?  " 

Orlando  Guise  giggled. 

"  What  are  you  sniggering  at  ?  "  snorted  the  old  man. 

"  I  thought  it  was  understood  .that  if  I  liked  the  bunch 
I  was  to  pay  cash,"  Orlando  replied.  "  I've  got  a  good 
report  of  the  beasts,  but  I  want  to  look  them  over.  My 
head  cattleman  told  you  what  I'd  do.  That's  why  I  smiled. 
Funny,  too:  you  don't  look  like  a  man  who'd  talk  more 
than  was  wanted."  He  giggled  again. 

"  Fool — I'll  make  you  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  your 
mouth !  "  the  Master  of  Tralee  said  to  himself ;  and  then 
he  motioned  to  where  a  bunch  of  a  hundred  or  so  cattle 
were  grazing  in  a  little  dip  of  the  country  between  them 
and  Askatoon.  "  I'll  get  my  buckboard.  It's  all  hitched  up 
and  ready,  and  we  can  get  down  and  see  them  right  now," 
he  said  aloud. 

" Won't  you  find  it  rough  going  on  the  buckboard? 
Better  ride,"  remarked  Orlando  Guise. 

"I  don't  ever  notice  rough  going,"  grunted  the  old 
man.  "  Some  people  ride  horses  to  show  themselves  off ; 
I  ride  a  buckboard  'cause  it  suits  me." 

Orlando  Guise  chirruped.     "  Say,   we  mustn't  get 


TWO  SIDES  TO  A  BARGAIN  37 

scrapping,"  he  said  gaily.  "  We've  got  to  make  a  bargain." 
In  a  few  moments  -they  were  sweeping  across  the 
prairie,  and  sure  enough'  the  buckboard  bumped,  tumbled 
and  plunged  into  the  holes  of  the  gophers  and  coyotes, 
but  the  old  man  sat  the  seat  with  the  tenacity  of  a  gorilla 
clinging1  to  the  branch  of  a  tree. 

In  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  tne  two  returned  to 
Tralee,  and  in  front  of  the  house  the  final  bargaining  took 
place.  There  was  a  difference  of  five  hundred  dollars 
between  them,  and  the  old  mlan  fought  stubbornly  for  it ; 
and  (though  Orlando  giggled,  it  was  clear  he  was  no  fool 
at  a  bargain,  and  that  he  had  many  resources.  !At  last 
he  threw  doubt  upon  the  pedigree  of  a  bull.  With  a 
snarl  Mazarine  strode  into  the  house.  He  had  that  pedi- 
gree, and  it  was  indisputable.  He  would  show  the  young 
swaggerer  that  he  could  not  be  caught  anywhere  in  this 
game. 

As  Joel  Mazarine  entered  the  doorway  of  the  house 
Orlando  giggled  again,  because  he  had  two  or  three  other 
useful  traps  ready,  and  this  was  really  like  baiting  a  bull. 
Every  thrust  made  this  bull  more  angry;  and  Orlando 
knew  that  if  he  became  angry  enough  he  could  bring 
things  to  a  head  with  a  device  by  which  the  old  man 
would  be  forced  to  yield ;  for  he  did  not  want  to  buy,  as 
much  as  Mazarine  wished  to  sell. 

The  device,  however,  was  never  used,  and  Orlando 
ceased  giggling  suddenly ;  for  chancing  to  glance  further  he 
saw  a  face  at  a  window,  pale,  exquisite,  delicate,  with  eyes 
that  stared  and  stared  at  him  as  though  he  were  a  creatulre 
from  some  other  world. 

Such  a  look  he  had  never  seen  in  anybody's  eyes ;  such 
a  look  Louise  Mazarine  had  never  given  in  her  life  before. 


38  WILD  YOUTH 

Something  had  drawn  her  out  of  her  bed  in  spite  of  her- 
self— a  voice  which  was  not  that  of  old  Joel  Mazarine, 
but  a  new,  fresh,  vibrant  voice  which  broke  into  little 
spells  of  inconsequent  laughter.  She  loved  inconsequent 
laughter,  and  never  heard  it  at  Tralee.  She  had  crept 
from  her  bed  and  to  the  window,  and  before  he  saw  her 
she  had  watched  him  with  a  look  which  slowly  became 
an  awakening — as  though  curtains  had  been  drawn  aside 
revealing  a  new,  strange,  -ecstatic  world. 

Louise  Mazarine  had  seen  somtething  she  had  never 
seen  before,  because  a  feeling  had  been  born  in  her  which 
she  had  never  felt.  She  had  never  fully  known  what  sex 
was,  or  in  any  real  sense  what  man  meant  This  romantic, 
picturesque,  buoyant  figure  of  youth  struck  her  as  the 
rock  was  struck  by  Moses;  and  for  the  first  time  in  all 
her  days  she  was  wholly  alive.  Also,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  Orlando  Guise  felt  a  wonder  which  in  spite  of  the 
hereditary  romance  in  him  had  never  touched  him  before. 
Like  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  in  "The  Tempest,"  "they 
changed  eyes." 

A  heavy  step  was  heard  coming  through  the  hallway, 
and  at  once  the  exquisite,  staring  face  at  the  window 
vanished — while  Orlando  Guise  turned  his  back  upon  the 
open  doorway  and  walked  a  few  steps  towards  the  gate 
in  an  effort  to  recover  himself.  W'hen  he  turned  again 
to  meet  Mazarine,  who  had  a  paper  in  his  hand,  there 
wlas  a  flush  on  his  cheek  and  a  new  light  in  his  eye.  The 
old  man  did  not  notice  that,  however,  for  his  avaricious 
soul  was  fixed  upon  the  paper  in  his  hand.  He  thrust 
it  before  Orlando's  eyes. 

"  What  you  got  to  say  to  that,  Mister?  "  he  demanded. 

Orlando  appeared  to  examine  the  paper  carefully,  and 
presently  he  handed  it  back  and  said  slowly  f  "  That  gives 


TWO  SIDES  TO  A  BARGAIN  39 

you  the  extra  five  hundred.    It's  a  bargain."    How  sud- 
denly he  had  capitulated ! 

"  Cash  ?  "  asked  the  old  man  triumphantly.  How 
should  'he  know  by  what  means  Orlando  had  been  con- 
quered ! 

"  I've  got  a  check  in  my  pocket.    I'll  fill  in  it  in." 

"  A  check  ain't  cash,"  growled  the  grizzly  one. 

"  You  can  cash  it  in  an  hour.  Come  in  to  Askatoon, 
and  I'll  get  you  the  cash  with  it  now,"  said  Orlando. 

"  I  can't.  A  man's  coming  for  a  stallion  I  want  to  sell. 
Give  me  a  hundred  dollars  cash  now  to  clinch  the  bargain, 
and  I'll  meet  you  at  Askatoon  to-morrow  and  get  the 
whole  of  it  in  cash.  I  don't  deal  with  banks.  I  pay 
hard  money,  and  I  get  hard  money.  That's  my  rule." 

"  Well,  you're  in  luck,  for  I've  got  a  hundred  dollars," 
answered  Orlando.  "  I've  just  got  that,  and  a  dollar 
besides,  in  my  pocket.  To-mprrow  you  go  to  my  lawyer, 
Burlingame,  at  Askatoon,  and  you'll  get  the  rest  of  the 
money.  It  will  be  there  waiting  for  you." 

"  Cash?  "  pressed  the  old  man. 

"Certainly:  government  hundred-dollar  bills.  Give 
me  a  receipt  for  this  hundred  dollars." 

"  Come  inside,"  said  the  old  man  almost  cheerfully. 
He  loved  having  his  own  way.  He  was  almost  insanely 
self-willed.  It  did  his  dark  soul  good  to  triumph  over 
this  "  circus  rider." 

As  Joel  Mazarine  preceded  him,  Orlando  looked  up  at 
the  window  again.  For  one  swift  instant  the  beautiful, 
pale  face  of  the  girl-wife  appeared,  and  then  vanished. 

At  the  doorway  of  the  house  Orlando  Guise  stumbled. 
That  was  an  unusual  thing  to  happen  to  him.  (H]e  was  too 
athletic  to  step  carelessly,  and  yet  he  stumbled  and  giggled. 
It  was  not  a  fatuous  giggle,  however.  In  it  were  all  kinds 
of  strange  things. 


CHAPTER  V 
ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE 

BURLINGAME  had  the  best  practice  of  any  lawyer  in 
Askatoon,  although  his  character  had  its  shady  side.  The 
prairie  standards  were  not  low;  but  tolerance  is  natural 
where  the  community  is  ready-made — where  people  from 
all  points  of  the  compass  comje  together  with  all  sorts 
of  things  behind  them — where  standards  have  at  first  no 
organized  sanction.  Financially  Burlingame  was  honest 
enough,  his  defects  being  associated  with  those  ancient 
sources  of  misconduct,  wine  and  women — and  in  his  case 
the  morphia  habit  as  well.  It  said  much  for  his  physique 
that,  in  spite  of  his  indulgences,  he  not  only  remained  a 
presentable  figure  but  a  lucky  and  successful  lawyer. 

Being  something  of  a  philosopher,  the  Young  Doctor 
looked  upon  Burlingame  chiefly  as  one  of  those  inevitable 
vintages  from  a  vineyard  which,  according  to  the  favor 
or  disfavor  of  Heaven,  yields  from  the  same  soil  both 
good  and  bad.  He  had  none  of  that  Puritanism  which 
would  ruthlessly  root  out  the  vines  yielding  the  bad  wine. 
To  his  mind  that  could  only  be  done  by  the  axe,  the  rope 
or  the  bullet.  It  seemjed  of  little  use,  and  very  unfair, 
to  drive  the  wolf  out  of  your  own  garden  into  that  of 
your  neighbor.  Therefore  Burlingame  must  be  endured. 

The  day  after  the  Young  Doctor  had  paid  his  profes- 
sional visit  to  Tralee,  and  Orlando  Guise  had  first  seen  the 
girl-wife  of  the  behemoth,  the  Young  Doctor  visited  Bur- 
lingame's  office.  Burlingame  had  only  recently  returned 
from  England,  whither  he  had  gone  on  important  legal 
business,  which  he  had  agreeably  balanced  by  unguarded 
40 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE     41 

adventures  in  forbidden  paths.  He  was  in  an  animated 
mood.  Three  things  had  just  happened  which  had  given 
him  great  pleasure. 

In  the  morning  he  had  gained  a  verdict  of  acquittal  in 
the  case  of  one  of  the  McMahon  gang  for  manslaughter 
connected  with  jumping  a  claim ;  and  this  meant  increased 
reputation. 

He  had  also  got  a  letter  from  Orlando  Guise,  and  a 
check  for  six  thousand  dollars,  with  instructions  to  pay 
the  amount  in  cas'h  to  Joel  Mazarine;  and  this  meant 
a  chance  of  meeting  Mazarine  and  perhaps  getting  a 
new  client. 

Likewise  he  had  received  a  letter  of  instructions  from 
a  client  in  Montreal,  a  kinsman  and  legatee  of  old  Michael 
Turley,  the  late  owner  of  Tralee,  in  connection  with  a 
legacy.  This  would  involve  some  legal  proceedings  with 
considerable  costs,  and  also  contact  with  Joel  Mazarine, 
whom  he  had  not  yet  seen ;  for  Mazarine  had  come  while 
he  was  away  in  England. 

His  interest  in  Mazarine,  however,  was  really  an  inter- 
est in  Mrs.  Mazarine,  concerning  whom  he  had  heard 
things  which  stimulated  his  imagination.  To  him  a  woman 
was  the  supreme  interest  of  existence,  apart  from  making 
a  necessary  living.  He  was  the  primitive  and  pernicious 
hunter.  He  had  been  discreet  enough  not  to  question 
people  too  closely  where  Mazarine's  wife  was  concerned, 
but  there  was,  however,  one  gossip  whom  Burlingame 
questioned  with  some  freedom.  This  was  Patsy 
Kernaghan. 

Before  the  Young  Doctor  arrived  at  'his  office  this  par- 
ticular morning,  Patsy,  who  had  followed  him  from  the 
court-house,  was  put  under  a  light  and  skilful  cross- 
examination.  He  had  been  of  service  to  Burlingame 


42  WILD  YOUTH 

more  than  once ;  and  he  was  regarded  as  a  useful  man  <to 
do  odd  jobs  for  his  office,  as  for  other  offices  in  Askatoon. 

"  Aw,  him — that  murdering  moloch  at  Tralee !  "  ex- 
claimed Patsy  when  the  button  was  pressed.  "  That 
Methodis'  fella  with  the  face  of  a  pirate !  If  there  wasn't 
a  better  Protistan'  than  him  in  the  world,  the  Meeting 
Houses'd  'be  used  for  kindlin'-wood.  Joel,  they  call  him — 
a  dacint  prophet's  name  misused ! 

"  I  h'ard  him  praying  once,  as  I  stood  outside  the 
Meetin'  House  windys.  To  hear  that  holy  hyena  lift  up 
his  voice  to  the  skies !  Shure,  I've  niver  been  the  same 
man  since,  for  the  voice  of  him  says  wan  thing,  and  the 
look  of  him  another.  Sez  I  to  meself,  Mr.  Burlingame, 
y'r  anner,  the  minute  I  first  saw  him,  sez  I,  '  Askatoon's 
no  safe  place  for  me.'  Whin  wan  like  that  gits  a  f ootin' 
in  a  place,  the  locks  can't  be  too  manny  to  shut  ye  in 
whin  ye  want  to  sleep  at  night.  That  fella's  got  no 
pedigree,  and  if  it  wouldn't  hurt  some  dacent  woman, 
maybe,  I'd  say  he  was  misbegotten.  But  still,  I'll  tell 
ye :  out  there  at  Tralee  there's  what'd  have  saved  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah — aye,  that'd  have  saved  Jerusalem,  and 
there  wouldn't  ha'  been  a  single  moan  from  Jeremiah. 
Out  at  Tralee  there's  as  beautiful  a  little  lady  as  you'd 
want  to  see.  Jitst  a  girl  she  is,  not  more  than  nineteen 
or  twenty  years  of  age.  She's  got  a  face  that'd  make  ye 
want  to  lift  the  chorals  an'  the  antiphones  to  her  every 
marnin'.  She's  got  the  figure  of  one  that  was  never  to 
grow  up,  an'  there  she  is  the  wedded  wife  of  that  crocodile 
great-grandfather. 

"  Aw,  I  know  all  about  it,  Mr.  Burlingame,  y'r  anner. 
How  do  I  know?  Didn't  Michael  Turley  tell  me  before 
lie  died  what  sort  o'  man  his  cousin  was?  Didn't  he 
tell  me  Joel  Mazarine  married  first  whin  he  was  eighteen 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE     43 

years  of  age ;  an'  his  daughter  was  married  whin  she  was 
seventeen ;  an'  her  son  was  married  whin  he  was  eighteen 
— an'  Joel's  a  great-grandfather  now.  An'  see  thim  out 
there  with  her  that  looks  as  if  the  kindergarten  was  the 
place  for  her." 

"  Do  you  go  to  Tralee  often?  "  asked  Burlingame. 

"  Aw  yis.  There's  a  job  now1  and  then  to  do.  I'm 
ridin'  an  old  moke  on  errands  for  him  whin  ihis  hired  folks 
is  busy.  A  man  must  live,  and  there's  that  purty  lass 
with  the  Irish  eyes !  Man  alive,  but  it  goes  to  me  heart 
to  luk  at  her." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  must  have  a  '  luk  '  at  her  then,"  was 
Burlingame's  half  satirical  remark. 

Not  long  after  Patsy  Kernaghan  had  left  Bu'rlingame's 
office,  the  Young  Doctor  came.  'Hiis  'business  was  brief, 
and  he  was  about  to  leave  when  Burlingame  said : 

"  The  Mazarines  out  at  Tralee — you  know  them?  They 
came  while  I  was  away.  Queer  old  goat,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  His  exact  place  in  natural  history  I'm  not  able  to 
select,"  answered  the  Young  Doctor  dryly,  "  but  I  know 
him." 

"  And  ihis  wife — you  know  her  ?  "  asked  Burlingame 
casually.  , 

The  other  nodded.  "  Yes — in  a  professional  way." 

"  Has  she  (been  sick?  " 

"  She  is  ill  now,"  replied  the  Young  Doctor. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  What's  the  truth  about  that  McMahon  claim- jumper 
who  was  acquitted  this  morning  ? "  asked  the  Young 
Doctor  with  a  quizzical  eye  and  an  acid  note  to  his  voice. 
"  You've  got  your  verdict,  but  you  know  the  real  truth, 
and  you  mustn't  and  won't  tell  it.  Well  ?  " 


44  WILD  YOUTH 

Burlingame  saw.  "  Well,  I'll  have  to  ask  the  old  goat 
myself,"  he  said.  "  He's  coming  here  to-day." 

He  took  up  Orlando  Guise's  letter  from  the  table, 
glanced  at  it  smilingly,  and  threw  it  down  again. 

"  He  must  be  a  queer  specimen,"  Burlingame  contin- 
ued. "  He  wouldn't  take  Orlando  Guise's  check  yester- 
day. Hp  says  he'll  only  be  paid  in  hard  cash.  He's 
coming  here  this  afternoon  to  get  it.  He's  a  crank,  what- 
ever else  he  is.  They  tell  me  he  doesn't  keep  a  bank 
account.  If  he  gets  a  check,  he  has  it  changed  into  cash. 
If  he  wants  to  send  a  check  away,  he  buys  one  for  cash 
from  somebody.  He  pays  for  everything  in  cash,  if  he 
can.  Actually,  he  hasn't  a  banking  account  in  the  place. 
Cash — nothing  but  cash!  What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

The  Young  Doctor  nodded :  "  Cash  as  a  habit  is  useful. 
Every  man  must  have  his  hobby,  I  suppose.  Considering 
the  crimes  tried  at  the  court  in  this  town,  Mazarine's 
got  unusual  faith  in  human  nature ;  or  else  he  feels  himself 
pretty  safe  at  Tralee." 

"  Thieves  ?  "  asked  Burlingame  satirically. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  that's  still  the  name,  though  judging 
from  some  of  your  talk  in  the  court-house  it's  a  word 
that  gives  opportunity  to  take  cover.  I  hope  your  success- 
ful client  of  to-day,  and  his  brothers,  are  not  familiar  with 
the  ways  of  Mr.  Mazarine.  I  hope  they  don't  know  about 
this  six  thousand  dollars  in  cold  cash." 

A  sneering,  sour  smile  came  to  Burlingame's  lips.  The 
medical  man's  dry  allusions  touched  him  on  the  raw  all 
too  often. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  told  them  all  about  that  six  thousand 
dollars!  Of  course!  A  lot  of  people  suspect  those 
McMahons  of  being  crooked.  Well,  it  has  never  been 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE     45 

proved.  Until  it's  proved,  they're  entitled "  Bur- 

lingame  paused. 

"  To  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  eh?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  I've  heard  you  hold  the  balance  pretty 
fair  'twixt  your  patients  and  the  undertaker." 

Quite  unmoved,  the  Young  Doctor  coolly  replied: 
"  In  your  own  happy  phrase — of  course !  I  get  a  com- 
mission from  the  undertaker  when  the  patient's  a  poor 
man ;  when  he's  a  rich  man,  I  keep  him  alive !  It  pays. 
The  difference  between  you'r  friends  the  criminals  and  me 
is  that  probably  nobody  will  ever  be  able  to  catch  me 
out.  But  the  McMahons,  we'll  get  them  yet " — a  stern, 
determined  look  came  into  his  honest  eye — "  yes,  we'll 
get  them  yet.  They're  a  nasty  fringe  on  the  skirts  of 
Askatoon. 

"  But  there  it  is  as  it  is,"  he  continued.  "  You  take 
their  dirty  money,  and  I  don't  refuse  pay  when  I'm  called 
in  to  attend  the  worst  man  in  the  West,  whoever  he  may 
be.  Why,  Burlingame,  as  your  family  physician,  I 
shouldn't  hesitate  even  to  present  my  account  against  your 
estate  if,  in  a  tussle  with  the  devil,  he  got  you  out  of 
my  hands." 

Now  a  large  and  friendly  smile  covered  his  face.  He 
liked  hard  hitting,  but  he  also  liked  to  take  human  nature 
as  it  was,  and  not  to  quarrel.  Burlingame,  on  his  part, 
had  no  desire  for  strife  with  the  Young  Doctor.  He  would 
make  a  very  dangerous  enemy.  His  return  smile  was 
a  great  effort,  however.  Ruefulness  and  exasperation 
were  behind  it. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  been  gone  only  a  few  minutes 
when  Joel  Mazarine  entered  Burlingame's  office. 

"  I've  come  about  that  six  thousand  dollars  Mr.  Guise 


46  WILD  YOUTH 

of  Slow  Down  Ranch  owes  me,"  the  old  man  said  without 
any  formal  salutation.  He  was  evidently  not  good- 
humored. 

At  sight  of  Mazarine,  Burlingame  at  once  accepted  the 
general  verdict  concerning  him.  That,  however,  would 
not  prejudice  him  greatly.  Burlingame  had  no  moral 
sense.  Mazarine's  face  might  revolt  him,  but  not  his 
character. 

"  I've  got  the  cash  'here  for  you,  and  I'll  have  in  a 
witness  and  hand  the  money  over  at  once,"  he  said.  "  The 
receipt  is  ready.  I  assume  you  are  Joel  Mazarine,"  he 
added,  in  a  weak  attempt  at  being  humorous. 

"  Get  on  with  the  business,  Mister,"  said  the  old  man 
surlily. 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  the  six  thousand  dollars  in 
good  government  notes  in  two  inner  pockets  of  his  shirt. 
It  made  him  feel  very  warm  and  comfortable.  His  face 
almost  relaxed  into  a  smile  when  he  bade  Burlingame 
good- day. 

Burlingame  had  said  nothing  about  the  letter  from 
the  late  Michael  Turley's  kinsman  in  Montreal  and  the 
question  of  the  legacy.  This  was  deliberate  on  his  part. 
He  wanted  an  excuse  to  visit  Tralee  and  see  its  mistress 
with  his  own  eyes.  He  had  attempted  to  pluck  many 
flowers  in  his  day,  and  had  not  been  unsuccessful.  Out 
at  Tralee  was  evidently  a  rare  orchid  carefully  shielded 
by  the  gardener. 

As  Mazarine  left  the  lawyer's  office,  he  met  in  the  door- 
way that  member  of  the  McMahon  famaly  for  whom 
Burlingame  had  secured  a  verdict  of  acquittal  a  couple 
of  hours  before.  As  was  his  custom,  Mazarine  gave  the 
other  a  sharp,  scrutinizing  look,  but  he  saw  no  one  he 
knew;  and  he  passed  on.  The  furtive  smile  which  had 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE    47 

betrayed  his  content  at  pocketing  the  six  thousand  dollars 
still  lingered  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

Though  he  did  not  know  the  legally  innocent  McMahon 
whom  he  had  just  passed,  McMahon  was  not  so  ignorant. 
There  was  no  one  in  all  the  countryside  whom  the  Mc- 
Mahons  did  not  know.  It  was  their  habit — or  something 
else — to  be  familiar  with  the  history  of  everybody  there- 
abouts, although  they  lived  secluded  lives  at  Arrowhead 
Ranch,  which  adjoined  that  belonging  to  Orlando  Guise. 

WhenTomiMcMahon  sawMazarine  leave  Burlingame's 
office,  his  furtive  eye  lighted.  Then  it  was  true,  what  he 
had  heard  from  the  hired  girl  at  Slow  Down  Ranch — that 
old  Mazarine  was  to  receive  six  thousand  dollars  in  cash 
from  Orlando  Guise  by  the  hands  of  Burlingame !  Only 
that  very  morning,  at  the  moment  of  his  own  release  from 
jail,  his  brother  Bill  McMahon  had  told  him  of  the  con- 
versation overheard  between  Orlando  and  his  mother,  by 
Milly  Gorst,  the  hired  girl. 

He  turned  and  watched  Mazarine  go  down  the  street 
and  enter  a  barber's  shop.  If  Mazarine  was  going  to  have 
his  hair  cut,  he  would  be  in  the  barber's  shop  for  some 
time.  With  intense  reflection  in  his  eyes,  McMahon  en- 
tered Burlingame's  office.  He  had  come  to  settle  up 
accounts  for  a  clever  piece  of  court-room  work  on  the 
part  of  Burlingame.  It  was  very  well  worth  paying  for 
liberally. 

When  he  entered  the  office,  Burlingame  was  not  there. 
A  clerk,  however,  informed  him  that  Burlingame  would 
•be  free  within  a  few  moments — and  would  he  take  a  chair? 
Thereupon,  the  clerk  left  the  room.  McMahon  took  a 
chair — not  the  one  towards  which  the  clerk  pointed  him, 
but  one  beside  the  desk  whereon  were  lying  a  number  of 
open  letters. 


48  WILD  YOUTH 

The  interrogation  always  in  the  mind  of  a  natural 
criminal  prompted  McMahon  to  take  a  seat  near  the 
open  letters.  As  soon  as  the  clerk  left  the  room,  a  hairy 
hand  reached  out  for  the  nearest  letter,  and  a  swift  glance 
took  in  its  contents. 

A  grimly  cheerful,  vicious  smile  lighted  up  the  heavily 
bearded  face.  Placing  the  letter  on  the  desk  again,  as 
soon  as  it  was  read,  McMahon  almost  threw  himself  over, 
to  the  chair  at  some  distance  from  the  desk,  which  the 
clerk  had  first  offered  him.  There  he  sat  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  his  chin  in  his  hands  when  Burlingame 
entered  the  room. 

Ten  minutes  later,  with  a  receipted  bill  in  his  pocket, 
Tom  McMahon  made  for  the  barber's  shop  which  Maza- 
rine had  entered.  He  found  it  full,  but  seated  in  the 
red-plush  chair,  tipped  back  at  a  convenient  angle,  was 
Mazarine  undergoing  the  triple  operations  of  shaving  his 
upper  lip,  beard-trimming  and  hair-cutting.  From  that 
moment  and  for  the  rest  of  all  the  long  day  and  evening, 
Joel  Mazarine  commanded  the  unvarying  interest  of  two 
members  of  the  McMahon  family. 

Orlando  Guise  had  had  a  long  day,  but  one  that  some- 
how made  him  whistle  or  sing  to  himself  most  of  the  time. 
In  a  way,  half  a  lifetime  had  gone  since  the  day  before 
when  he  had  first  seen  what  he  called  to  himself  "  the 
captive  maid."  He  had  never  been  so  happy  in  his  life ; 
and  yet  he  knew  that  he  had  not  the  faintest  right  to 
be  'happy.  The  girl  who  had  so  upset  his  self-control  as 
to  make  him  stumble  on  her  doorstep  was  the  wife  of 
another  man.  It  was,  of  course,  silly  to  call  him  "  another 
man,"  because  he  seemed  a  million  miles  away  from  any 
sphere  in  which  Orlando  lived.  Yet  he  was  another  man ; 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE     49 

and  he  was  also  the  husband  of  the  girl  who  had  made 
Orlando  feel  for  the  very  first  time  a  strange  singing  in 
his  veins.  It  actually  was  as  though  some  wonderful, 
magnetic  thing  was  making  his  veins  throb  and  every 
nerve  tingle  and  sing. 

"  It  beats  mje,"  he  said  to  himself  fifty  times  that  day. 

He  had  never  been  in  love.  He  did  not  know  what 
it  was  like,  except  that  he  had  seen  it  make  men  do  silly 
things,  just  as  drink  did.  He  did  not  know  whether 
he  was  in  love  or  not.  It  was  absurd  that  a  man  should 
be  in  love  with  a  face  at  a  window — a  face  with  the  beauty 
of  a  ghost  rather  than  of  a  real  live  woman. 

Orlando  had  little  evil  in  his  nature ;  his  eyes  did  not 
look  towards  Tralee  as  did  Burlingame's  eyes.  Nothing 
furtive  stirred  in  Orlando's  intensely  blue  eyes.  What- 
ever the  feeling  was,  it  was  an  open  thing,  which  had 
neither  motive  nor  purpose  behind  it — just  a  thing  almost 
feminine  in  its  nature.  As  yet  it  was  like  the  involuntary 
adoration  which  girls  at  a  certain  period  of  their  lives  feel 
successively  for  one  hero  after  another.  What  it  would 
become,  who  could  tell  ?  What  would  happen  to  the  young 
girl  adoring  the  actor,  or  the  hero  of  the  North  Pole,  the 
battle-field  or  the  sea,  if  the  adored  one  was  not  far  off, 
but  very  near?  Indeed,  who  could  tell? 

But,  as  it  was,  in  the  upper  room  where  Louise  sat  all 
day  looking  out  over  the  prairie,  and  on  the  prairie  where 
business  carried  Orlando  from  ranch  to  ranch  on  this 
perfect  day,  no  recreant  thought  or  feeling  existed.  Each 
was  a  simple  soul,  as  yet  unspoiled  and  in  one  sense  un- 
sophisticated— the  girl,  however,  with  an  instinctive  cau- 
tion, such  as  an  animal  possesses  in  the  presence  of  a  foe 
with  which  it  is  in  truce;  the  man  with  an  astuteness 
4 


50  WILD  YOUTH 

which  belonged  to  a  native  instinct  for  finding  a  way  of 
doing  hard  things  in  the  battle  of  life. 

All  day  Orlando  wondered  when  he  should  see  that  face 
again;  all  day  the  eyes  of  Louise  pleaded  for  another  look 
at  the  ranchmlan  with  the  dress  of  a  dandy,  the  laugh  of 
a  child,  and  the  face  of  an  Apollo — or  so  it  seemed  to  her. 
It  was  the  sort  of  day  which  ministers  to  human  emotion, 
which  stirs  the  sluggish  blood,  revives  the  drooping  spirit. 
There  was  a  curious,  delicate  blueness  of  the  sky  over 
which  an  infinitely  more  delicate  veil  of  mist  was  softly 
drawn.  At  many  places  on  the  prairie  -the  haymakers 
were  loading  the  great  wagons ;  here  and  there  a  fallow 
field  was  burning;  yonder  a  house  was  building;  cattle 
were  being  rounded  up ;  and  far  off,  like  moving  specks, 
ranchmen  were  climbing  the  hills  where  the  wild  bronchos 
were,  for  a  day  of  the  toughest,  most  thrilling  sport  which 
the  world  knows. 

Night  fell,  and  found  Orlando  making  for  the  trail 
between  what  was  known  as  the  Company's  Ranch  and 
Tralee.  To  reach  his  own  ranch,  he  had  to  cross  it  at  an 
angle  near  the  Tralee  homestead.  It  was  dark,  with  no 
moon,  but  the  stars  were  bright. 

As  he  crossed  the  Tralee  trail,  he  suddenly  heard  a 
cry  for  help.  Between  him  and  where  the  sound  came 
from  was  a  fire  burning.  It  was  the  camp-fire  of  some 
prairie  pioneer  making  for  a  new  settlement  in  the  North ; 
and  beside  it  was  a  tent  whose  owner  was  absent  in 
Askatoon. 

Orlando  dug  heels  into  his  horse  and  rode  for  the 
point  from  which  the  cry  for  help  had  come.  Something 
was  undoubtedly  wrong.  The  voice  was  that  of  one  in 
real  trouble — a  hoarse,  strangled  sort  of  voice. 


ORLANDO  .HAS  AN  ADVENTURE  5 1 

As  he  galloped  through  the  light  of  the  camp-fire,  a 
pistol-shot  rang  out,  and  he  felt  a  sharp,  stinging  pain  in 
his  side.  Still  urging  his  horse,  he  cleared  the  little  circle 
of  light  and  presently  saw  a  man  rapidly  mounting  a 
horse,  while  two  others  struggled  on  the  ground. 

He  dashed  forward.  As  he  did  so,  one  of  the  men  on 
the  ground  freed  himself,  sprang  to  his  feet,  mounted 
his  horse,  and  was  away  into  the  night  with  his  companion. 
Orlando  slid  to  the  ground  'beside  the  figure  which  was 
slowly  raising  itself  from  the  ground. 

"  What's  the  matter?  Are  you!  all  right?  Have  they 
hurt  you  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  stooped  over  and  caught  the 
shoulders  of  the  victim  of  the  two  fleeing  figures. 

At  that  instant  there  were  two  more  /pistol-shots,  and 
a  bullet  hit  the  ground  beside  Orlando.  Then  he  saw 
dimly  the  face  of  the  man  whom  he  was  helping  to  his  feet. 

"  Mazarine !  Good  Lord — Mazarine !  "  he  said  in  an 
anxious  voice.  "  What  have  they  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing — I'm  all  right  The  dogs,  the  rogues,  the 
thieves — but  they  didn't  get  it !  It  was  in  the  pockets  of 
my  shirt."  The  old  man  was  almost  hysterical.  "  You 
just  come  in  time,  Mr.  Guise.  You  frightened  'em  off. 
they'd  have  found  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

"  Found  what  ?  "  asked  Orlando,  as  he  helped  the  old 
man  towards  the  camp-fire,  himself  in  pain,  and  a  dizziness 
coming  over  him. 

"  Found  your  six  thousand  dollars  that  Burlingame 
paid  me  to-day,"  gasped  the  old  man,  spasmodically; 
"  but  it's  here — it's  here !  "  He  caught  at  his  breast  with 
devouring  greed. 

Somehow  the  agitated  joy  of  the  old  man  revolted 
Orlando.  He  had  a  sudden  rush  of  repulsion;  but  he 
fought  it  down. 


52  WILD  YOUTH 

"  Are  you  all  right  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you  all  right  ?  " 
Somehow  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  was  very  weak. 

"  Yes,  I'm  all  right,"  Mazarine  said,  and  he  called  to 
his  horse  near  by. 

The  horse  did  not  stir,  and  the  old  man,  whose  breath 
came  almost  normally  now,  moved  over  and  caught  its 
bridle. 

In  a  dazed  kind  of  way,  and  with  growing  unsteadiness, 
Orlando  walked  towards  the  camp-fire.  He  was  leaning 
against  his  horse,  and  opening  his  coat  and  waistcoat  to 
find  the  wound  in  his  side  and  stanch  it  with  the  kerchief 
from  his  neck,  when  Mazarine  came  up. 

"  What's  that  on  your  coat  and  breeches  ?  Say,  you're 
all  bloody ! "  exclaimed  Mazarine.  "  Why,  they  shot 
you!" 

"  Yes,  they  got  me,"  was  Orlando's  husky  reply,  and 
he  gave  a  funny  little  laugh — giggling,  people  had  called  it. 

"How  are  we  going  to  get  you  home?"  Mazarine 
asked.  "  You  can't  ride." 

At  that  moment  there  was  the  rumbling  jolt  of  a  wagon. 
It  was  the  pioneer-emigrant  returning  from  Askatoon  to 
•his  camp. 

A  few  minutes  later  Orlando  was  lying-  on  some  bags 
in  the  emigrant's  wagon,  while  Mazarine  rode  beside  it. 

"  It's  only  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  -house,"  said  the 
emigrant  sympathetically,  as  he  looked  down  at  the  now 
unconscious  figure  in  the  wagon. 

"  It's  four  miles  to  his  house,"  said  Mazarine. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  taking  him  four  miles  to  his  house  or 
any  house,"  said  the  emigrant.  "  My  horse  has  had 
enough  to-day,  and  the  sooner  the  lad's  attended  to  the 
better.  He's  going  to  the  nearest  house,  and  that's  Tralee, 
as  they  call  it,  just  here." 


ORLANDO  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE     53 

"  That's  my  house,"  gruffly  replied  the  old  man. 

"  Well,  that's  where  you  want  him  to  go,  ain't  it  ?  " 
asked  the  pioneer  sharply.  He  could  not  understand  the 
owner  of  Tralee. 

"  Yes,  that's  where  I  want  him  to  go,"  replied  Mazarine 
slowly  and  morosely. 

"  Then  you  ride  ahead  on  the  trail,  and  I'll  follow," 
returned  the  other  decisively. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Who  hurt  him  ?  "  he  presently 
called  to  Mazarine,  riding  in  front. 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  to  Tralee,"  answered  the  old 
man,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  two  lights  in  the  near  distance. 
One  was  in  the  kitchen,  where  a  half-breed  woman  was 
giving  supper  to  Li  Choo,  a  faithful  Chinaman  roustabout ; 
the  other  was  in  the  room  where  a  young  wife  sat  with 
hands  clasped,  wondering  why  her  husband  did  not  return, 
yet  glad  that  he  did  not. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"THINGS  MUST  HAPPEN" 

BETWEEN  two  sunrises  Louise  Mazarine  had  seen  her 
old  world  pass  in  a  flash  of  flame  and  a  new  world  trem- 
bling1 with  a  new  life  spread  out  before  her;  had  come 
to  know  what  her  old  world  really  was.  The  eyes  with 
which  she  looked  upon  her  new  world  had  in  them  the 
glimmer  not  only  of  awakened  feeling  but  of  awakened 
understanding.  To  this  time  she  had  endured  her  aged 
husband  as  a  slave  comes  to  bear  the  lashes  of  his  master, 
with  pain  which  will  be  renewed  and  renewed,  but  pain 
only,  and  not  the  deeper  torture  of  the  soul ;  for  she  had 
never  really  grasped  what  their  relations  meant.  To 
her  it  had  all  been  part  of  the  unavoidable  misery  of 
life.  But  on  that  sunny  afternoon  when  Orlando  Guise's 
voice  first  sounded  in  her  ears,  and  his  eyes  looked  into 
hers  as,  pale  and  ill,  she  gazed  at  him  from  the  window, 
a  revelation  came  to  her  of  what  the  three  years  of  life 
with  Joel  Mazarine  had  really  been.  From  that  moment 
until  she  heard  the  pioneer's  wagon,  escorted  by  her 
husband,  bringing  the  unconscious  Orlando  Guise  to  her 
door,  she  had  lived  in  a  dream  which  seemed  like  a  year 
of  time  to  her. 

Since  the  early  morning  of  that  very  day,  when  Joel 
had  leaned  over  her  bed  and  asked  her  in  his  slow, 
grinding  voice  how  she  was,  she  had  lived  more  than 
in  all  the  past  nineteen  years  of  her  life.  The  Young 
Doctor  had  come  and  gone,  amazed  at  first,  but  presently 
with  a  look  of  apprehension  in  his  eyes.  There  was 
not  much  trace  of  yesterday's  illness  in  the  alert,  eager 
54 


THINGS  MUST  HAPPEN"  55 

girl-wife,  who  twenty-four  hours  -before  had  been  really 
nearer  to  the  end  of  all  things  than  her  aged  husband. 
The  Young  Doctor  knew  all  too  well  what  the  curious, 
throbbing  light  in  her  eyes  meant.  He  knew  that  the 
gay  and  splendid  Orlando  Guise  had  made  the  sun  for  this 
prismjatic  radiance,  and  that  the  story  of  her  life,  which 
Louise  had  wished  to  tell  him  yesterday,  would  never  now 
be  told — for  she  would  have  no  desire  to  tell  it.  The  old 
vague  misery,  the  ancient  veiled  torture,  was  behind  her, 
and  she  was  presently  to  suffer  a  new  torture — but  also 
a  joy  for  which  men  and  women  have  borne  unspeakable 
things.  No,  Louise  would  never  tell  him  the  story  of 
her  life,  because  now  she  knew  it  was  a  thing  which  must 
not  be  told.  Her  mind  understood  things  it  had  never 
known  before.  To  be  wise  is  to  be  secret,  and  she  had 
learned  some  wisdom;  and  the  Young  Doctor  wondered  if 
the  greater  wisdom  she  must  learn  would  be  drunk  from 
the  cup  of  folly.  Before  he  left  her  he  had  said  to  her 
with  meaning  in  his  voice : 

"  My  dear  young  madam,  your  recovery  is  too  rapid. 
It  is  not  a  cure — it  is  a  miracle ;  and  miracles  are  not  easily 
understood.  We  must,  therefore,  make  them  understood ; 
and  so  you  will  take  regularly  three  times  a  day  the 
powerful  tonic  I  will  give  you." 

She  was  about  to  interrupt  him,  but  he  waved  a  hand 
reprovingly  and  added  with  kindly  irony : 

"  Yes,  we  both  know  you  don't  need  a  tonic  out  of  a 
<bottle ;  but  it's  just  as  well  other  people  should  think  that 
the  tonic  bringing  back  the  color  to  your  cheeks  comes 
out  of  a  bottle  and  not  out  of  a  health  resort,  called  Slow 
Down  Ranch,  about  four  miles  to  the  northwest  of 
Tralee." 

As  he  said  this,  he  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  which 


50  WILD  YOUTH 

seemed,  as  it  were,  to  shrink  into  cover  from  what  he  was 
saying.  But  when,  an  instant  afterwards,  he  took  her 
hand  and  said  good-bye,  he  knew  by  the  trembling  clasp 
of  her  ringers — even  more  appealing  than  they  had  yet 
been — that  she  understood. 

So  it  was  a  few  moments  later,  outside  the  house, 
he  had  said  to  Joel  Mazarine  that  he  had  given  his  wife 
a  powerful  tonic,  and  he  hoped  to  see  an  almost  instant 
change  in  her  condition ;  but  she  must  have  her  room  to 
herself  for  a  time,  according  to  his  instructions  of  the 
day  before,  as  she  was  nervous  and  needed  solitude,  to 
induce  sleep.  He  was  then  about  to  start  for  Askatoon 
when  the  old  man  said : 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  have  to  come  again,  as  she's 
going  on  all  right." 

To  this  the  Young  Doctor  had  replied  firmly :  "  Yes, 
I'm  coming  out  to-morrow.  She's  not  fit  yet  to  go  to 
Askatoon,  and  I  must  see  her  once  again." 

"  Oh,  keep  coming — that's  right,  keep  coming !  "  an- 
swered the  miserly  old  man,  who  still  was  not  so  miserly 
that  he  did  not  want  his  young  wife  blooming.  "  Coming 
to-morrow,  eh ! "  he  added,  with  something  very  like  a 
sneer. 

The  other  had  a  sudden  flash  of  fury  pass  through  his 
veins.  The  old  Celtic  quickness  to  resent  insult  swept 
over  him.  The  ire  of  his  forefathers  waked  in  him.  This 
outrageous  old  Caliban,  this  ancient  river-hog,  to  attempt 
a  sneer  at  him !  For  an  instant  he  was  Kilkenny  let  loose, 
and  then  the  cool,  trained  brain  reasserted  its  mastery, 
and  he  replied : 

"If  there  should  be  a  turn  for  the  worse,  send  for  me 
to-night — not  to-morrow !  "  And  he  looked  the  old  man 
in  the  eyes  with  a  steady,  steely  glance  which  had  nothing 


"THINGS  MUST  HAPPEN"  57 

to  do  with  the  words  he  had  just  uttered,  but  was  the 
challenge  of  a  conquering  spirit. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  acted  with  an  almost  uncanny 
prescience.  It  was  as  though  he  had  foreseen  that  Orlando 
Guise  would  be  carried  upstairs  to  a  room  nearly  opposite 
that  of  Louise,  and  laid  unconscious  on  a  bed,  till  he 
himself  should  come  again  that  very  night  and  extract  a 
bullet  from  Orlando's  side ;  that  he  would  open  Orlando's 
eyes  to  consciousness,  hear  Orlando  say,  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 
and  note  his  startled  look  when  told  he  was  at  Tralee. 

Once  during  this  visit,  while  making  Orlando  safe  and 
comfortable,  with  the  help  of  Li  Choo,  the  Chinaman,  and 
Rada,  the  half-breed,  he  had  seen  Louise  for  a  moment. 
The  old  man  had  gone  to  the  stables,  and  as  he  came  out 
of  the  room  where  Orlando  was  Louise's  door  opened 
softly  on  him.  Dimly,  in  the  half-darkness  of  her  room, 
in  which  no  light  was  burning,  he  saw  her.  She  beckoned 
to  him.  Shutting  the  door  of  Orlando's  bedroom  behind 
him,  he  came  quickly  to  her  side  and  said : 

"  Go  to  bed  at  once,  young  woman.    This  will  not  do." 

"  I'm  not  sick  now,"  she  urged.  "  Say,  I  really  am 
well  again." 

"  You  must  not  be  well  again  so  soon,"  he  replied 
meaningly.  "  I  want  you  to  understand  that  you  must 
not,"  he  insisted. 

There  was  a  pause,  which  seemed  interminable  to  the 
Young  Doctor,  who  was  listening  for  the  heavy  footstep 
of  Joel  Mazarine  outside  the  house ;  and  then  at  last  in 
agitation  Louise  said  to  him : 

"  Will  he  get  well  ?  Rada  told  me  he  was  shot  saving 
Mr.  Mazarine.  Will  he  get  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  will  get  well,  and  quickly,  if " 

He  broke  off,  for  there  was  the  thud  of  a  heavy  foot- 


58  WILD  YOUTH 

step  for  which  he  had  been  listening.  Joel  Mazarine  was 
returning. 

"  Won't  they  let  me  help  nurse  him  ?  "  she  whispered. 

The  Young  Doctor  shook  his  head  in  negation. 

"  His  mother  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  Be  wise,  my  child." 

"You  understand?"  she  whispered  wistfully. 

"  I  have  no  understanding.  Go  to  bed,"  he  answered 
sharply.  "  Shut  the  door  at  once." 

When  old  Joel  Mazarine's  footsteps  were  heard  upon 
the  staircase  again,  Orlando  was  lying  with  half-closed 
eyes,  watching,  yet  too  weak  to  speak;  and  the  Young 
Doctor  was  giving  directions  to  Rada  and  Li  Choo  for  the 
night-watch  in  Orlando's  room.  When  Mazarine  entered, 
the  Young  Doctor  gave  him  a  casual  nod  and  went  on  with 
his  directions.  When  he  had  finished,  Rada  said  in  her 
broken  English,  with  an  accent  half-Indian,  half-French; 

"  His  mother  you  send  for — yes  ?  She  corne  queeck. 
Some  one  must  take  care  him  when  for  me  get  breakfus 
and  Li  Choo  do  chores." 

"  We'll  send  for  her  in  the  morning,"  interrupted  Joel 
Mazarine. 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Mazarine  would  be  well  enough  to  help 
a  little  in  the  morning,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor  in 
a  colorless  voice.  He  knew  when  to  be  audacious;  or, 
if  he  did  not  know,  he  had  an  instinct;  and  he  noticed 
that  the  wounded  man's  eyelids  did  not  even  blink  when 
he  threw  out  the  hint  concerning  Louise,  while  the  eyes  of 
the  old  man  took  on  a  sudden  flame. 

"  Mrs.  Mazarine  has  to  be  molly-coddled  herself — 
that's  what  you've  taught  her,"  he  snarled. 

"  Well,  then,  send  for  Mrs.  Guise  to-night,"  com- 
manded the  Young  Doctor. 


'THINGS  MUST  HAPPEN"  59 

He  thought  Joel  Mazarine  made  unnecessary  noise  as 
he  stamped  down  the  staircase  to  send  a  farmhand  to 
Slow  Down  Ranch;  and  he  also  thought  that  Orlando 
Guise  showed  discretion  of  manner  and  look  in  a  moment 
of  delicacy  and  difficulty.  He  knew,  however,  that,  as 
the  children  say,  "  Things  must  happen." 


CHAPTER  VII 

"THE  ZOOLYOGICAL  GARDEN" 

PATSY  KERNAGHAN  regarded  Tralee  as  a  kind  of 
Lost  Paradise,  for  the  most  part  because  it  had  passed 
from  the  hands  of  a  son  of  the  Catholic  Church  into  those 
of  the  "  jprayin'  Methodys,"  as  he  called  them,  and  also 
because  the  had  a  "  black  heart  ag'in' "  Joel  Mazarine. 

'The  spark  was  struck  in  him  with  some  vigor  one  day 
at  Tralee.  It  was  caused  by  the  flamboyant  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Guise  into  the  front  garden,  as  the  Young  Doctor 
was  getting  into  his  buggy  for  the  return  journey  to 
Askatoon,  after  attending  Orlando,  whose  enforced  visit 
to  Tralee  had  already  extended  over  a  week. 

"  Aw,  Doctor  dear,"  said  Patsy,  as  Orlando's  mother 
fluttered  into  the  garden  like  a  gorgeous  hen  with  wings 
outspread,  her  clothes  a  riot  of  contradictory  colors,  all 
of  them  insistently  bright,  "  d'ye  know  what  this  place  is 
— this  terry  firmy  on  which  we  stand,  that's  wan  mile  wan 
way,  an'  half  a  mile  the  other?  Ye  don't?  Well,  I'll  tell 
ye :  it's  a  zoolyogical  gardin.  Is  it  like  a  human  bein'  she 
is,  the  dear  ould  wumman  there  ?  Isn't  she  just  some  gay 
ould  bird  from  the  forests  of  the  Equaytor,  wherivir  it  is? 
Look  at  the  beautiful  little  white  curls  hanging  down  her 
cheek,  tied  with  ribbon — pink  ribbon  too — an'  the  bonnet 
on  her  head!  Did  ye  iver  see  annything  like  it  outside 
a  zoolyogical  gardin?  Isn't  it  like  the  topknot  of  some 
fine  old  parakeet  from  Pernambukoko — and  oh,  Father 
Rainbow,  the  maginta  dress  of  her!  Now  I  tell  you, 
Doctor  dear,  I  tell  you  the  truth,  what  I  know !  She  wears 
hoops,  she  does,  the  same  as  y'r  grandmother  used  to. 
60 


"THE  ZOOLYOGICAL  GARDEN"  61 

An'  the  bit  of  rose  ribbon  round  her  waist,  hanging  down 
behind — now  I  ask  y'r  anner,  is  it  like  a  wumman  at  all  ? 
See  the  face  of  her,  with  the  little  snappin'  eyes  an'  the 
yellow  beak  of  a  nose,  an'  the  sunset  in  her  cheeks  that's 
put  on  wid  a  painter's  brush  !  Look  at  her  trippin'  about ! 
Floatin' — shure,  that's  what  she's  doin'!  If  you  listened 
hard,  you'd  hear  her  buzzin'.  It's  the  truth  I  ftell  ye. 
D'ye  follow  me?'* 

The  Young  Doctor  liked  talking  to  Patsy  Kernaghan 
better  than  to  any  other  person  in  Askatoon.  (He  was 
always  sure  to  be  stimulated  by  a  new  point  of  view,  but 
he  never  failed  to  provoke  Kernaghan  by  scepticism. 

"  One  wild  bird  from  '  Pernambukoko '  does  not  make 
a  zoological  garden,  Patsy,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  dissent. 

"  Well,  that's  true  for  you,  Doctor  dear,"  answered 
Kernaghan,  "  but  this  gardin's  got  a  bunch  of  specimens 
for  all  that.  Listen  to  me  now.  Did  you  ever  notice  the 
likeness  between  the  faces  of  people  and  of  animals  an' 
things  that  fly?  You  never  did?  Well,  be  thinkin'  of 
it  now.  Ivry  man  and  wumman  here  at  Tralee  looks  like 
an  animal  or  a  bird  in  a  zoolyogical  gardin.  Shure,  there's 
no  likeness  between  anny  two  of  them ;  it's  as  if  they  was 
gathered  from  ivry  corner  of  the  wide  wurruld.  There's 
a  Mongolian  in  the  kitchen  an'  slitherin'  about  outside, 
doin'  the  things  that's  part  for  man  and  part  for  wumman. 
Li  Choo  they  call  him.  Isn't  his  the  face  of  a  bald- 
headed  baboon?  An'  the  half-breed  crature — she  might 
ha*  come  from  Patagony.  An'  the  ould  man  Mazarine 
— part  rhinoceros  and  part  Methody,  he  is.  An'  what  do 
ye  be  thinkin'  of  him  they  call  Giggles,  that  almost  guv 
his  life  to  save  the  ould  behemoth !  Doesn't  he  remind  you 
of  the  zebra,  where  the  wild  Hottentots  come  from — 
smart  and  handsome,  but  that  showy,  all  stripes  and  tail 


62  WILD  YOUTH 

and  fetlock !    D'ye  unnerstand  what  I  mean,  y 'r  anner  ?  " 

"  Have  you  finished  calling  names,  Kernaghan  ?  "  asked 
the  Young  Doctor  in  a  low  tone.  "  Have  you  really 
finished  your  zoological  list  ?  " 

Kernaghan's  eye  flashed.  "  Aw,  Doctor  dear,'*  said  he, 
"  manny's  the  time  in  County  Inniskillen,  where  you  come 
from,  you've  seen  a  wild  thing,  bare-footed,  springin' 
from  stone  to  stone  on  the  hillside,  wid  her  hair  flyin' 
behind  like  the  daughter  of  a  witch  or  sorqethin'  only  half 
human — so  belongin'  to  the  hills  an'  the  bogs  an'  the 
cromlechs  was  she.  Well,  that's  the  maid  that's  mistress 
of  Tralee — belongin'  as  much  to  the  Gardin  of  Eden  as  to 
this  place  here.  There's  none  of  them  here  that  belongs. 
Every  wan  of  them's  been  caught  away  from  where  he 
ought  to  be  into  this  zoolyogical  gardin." 

"  Well,  there's  one  good  thing  about^  a  zoological 
garden,  Patsy  Kernaghan,"  said  the  Young  Doctor ;  "  it's 
generally  a  safe  place  for  the  birds  and  animals  in  it." 

"  But  suppose  some  wan — suppose,  now,  the  Keeper, 
got  drunk  and  let  loose  the  popylashin  of  the  gardin  upon 
each  other,  d'ye  think  would  it  be  a  Gardin  of  Eden  ?  " 
Suddenly  Patsy's  manner  changed.  "  Aw,  I  tell  you  this, 
then:  I  don't  like  what  I  see  here,  an'  I  like  it  less  an' 
less  ivry  day." 

"  What  don't  you  like,  Patsy  ?  "  asked  the  other  quiz- 
zically. 

"  I  don't  like  the  way  the  old  fella  watches  that  child 
he  calls  his  wife.  I  don't  like  the  young  fella  bein'  the 
cause  of  the  old  man's  watchin'." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  has  he  done  ?  "  asked 
the  Young  Doctor  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Divils  me  own,  it  isn't  what  he's  done ;  it's  his  bein' 
here.  It's  his  bein'  what  he  is.  It  doesn't  need  doin'  to 


"THE  ZOOLYOGICAL  GARDEN"  63 

bring  wild  youth  together.  Look  at  her,  y'r  armer !  A 
week  ago  she  was  like  wan  that'd  be  called  to  the  Land  of 
Canaan  anny  minnit.  Wasn't  you  here  tendin'  her,  as 
if  she  was  steppin'  intil  her  grave,  an'  look  at  her  now! 
She's  like  a  rose  in  the  garden,  like  a  lark's  lilt  in  the  air. 
What  has  done  it  ?  The  young  man's  done  it.  You'll  be 
tellin'  the  ould  fella  it's  the  tonic  you've  guv  her.  Tonic ! 
How  long  d'ye  think  he'll  belave  it  ?  " 

"  But  she  never  sees  Mr.  Guise,  does  she,  Patsy?  Isn't 
his  mother  always  with  him  ?  Hasn't  Mazarine  forbidden 
his  wife  to  enter  the  room?  " 

Kernaghan  threw  out  his  hands.  "  An*  you're  the  man 
they  say's  the  cleverest  steppin'  between  Winnipeg  and 
the  Mountains — an' — an' — you  talk  to  me  like  that !  Is 
the  ould  fella  always  in  the  house  ?  Is  he  always  upstairs  ? 
I  ask  you  now.  I'll  tell  you  this,  y'r  anner " 

The  Young  Doctor  interrupted  him.  "  Don't  you  sup- 
pose that  there's  somebody  always  watching,  Patsy — the 
half-breed,  the  Chinaman?" 

Kernaghan  snapped  a  finger.  "Aw,  must  I  be  y'r 
schoolmaster  in  the  days  of  your  dotage !  Of  coorse  the 
ould  fella  has  someone  to  watch,  an'  I  dunno  which  it  is — 
the  Chinaman  or  the  half-breed  wumman.  But  I'll  tell 
you  this :  they'll  take  his  pay  and  lie  to  him  about  what- 
ever's  goin'  on  inside  the  house.  That  girl  has  them  both 
in  the  palms  of  her  hands.  Let  him  set  what  spies  he  will, 
she'll  do  what  she  wants,  if  the  young  man  lets  her." 

"  His  mother "  interjected  the  doctor. 

"  Her  of  the  plumage — her !  Shure,  she's  not  livin' 
in  this  wurruld.  She's  only  visitin'  it.  She's  got  no  re- 
sponsibility. If  iver  there  was  a  child  of  a  fairy  tale,  that 
wumman's  the  child.  I  belave  she'd  think  her  son  was 
doin'  right  if  he  tied  the  ould  fella  up  to  a  tree  an'  stuck 


64  WILD  YOUTH 

him  as  full  of  Ingin  arrows  as  a  pin-cushion,  an'  rode  off 
with  the  lovely  little  lady  in  beyant  there.  That's  my  mind 
about  her.  It  isn't  on  her  you  can  rely.  If  ye  want  the 
truth,  y'r  anner,  them,  two  young  people  have  had  words 
together  and  plenty  of  them,  whether  it's  across  the  hall — 
her  room  from  his ;  or  in  his  room ;  or  through  the  windy 
or  down  the  chimney — shure,  I  don't  care!  They've 
spoke.  There's  that  between  them  wants  watchin'.  Not 
that  there's  wrong  in  aither  of  them* — divil  a  bit!  I've 
got  me  own  mind  about  Mr.  Orlando  Giggles.  As  for 
her,  the  purty  thing,  she  doesn't  know  what  wrong  is — 
that's  the  worst  of  it !  "• 

The  Young  Doctor  tapped  Kernaghan's  head  gently 
with  his  whip.  "  Patsy,"  said  he, "  you  talk  a  lot.  There's 
no  greater  talker  between  here  and  Donegal.  But  still 
I  think  you  know  what  to  say  and  whom  to  say  it  to." 

Kernaghan's  cap  came  off.  He  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  hair  and  looked  at  the  other  with  a  primitive  intelli- 
gence which  showed  him  to  be  what  the  Young  Doctor 
knew  him  to  be — better  than  his  looks,  or  his  place  in  the 
world,  or  his  reputation. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  y'r  anner,"  he  said  softly.  "  I'm 
troubled  about  things  here,  I  am.  That's  why  I  spoke 
to  ye.  I'm  afraid  of  the  old  fella,  for  his  place  is  not 
in  the  pen  wid  that  young  thing,  an'  he'll  break  her 
heart,  or  kill  her,  if  he  gets  to  know  the  truth." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  truth/  Patsy?  "  was  the 
sharp  query. 

"  I  mean  nothin'  at  all,  save  that  in  there  wild  youth 
is  spakin'  to  wild  youth — honest  and  dacint  and  true. 
But  there's  manny  a  tragedy  comes  out  of  that,  y'r  anner." 

"  Orlando  has  been  sitting  up  for  two  days,"  said  the 
Young  Doctor  meditatively,  "  and  in  two  days  more  he 


"THE  ZOOLYOGICAL  GARDEN"  65 

can  be  removed.  Patsy,  you  are  staying  on  here.  I  know, 
and  I  trust  you.  The  girl  and  the  young  man  have 
both  been  niy  patients.  I  think  as  much  of  both  of 
them  as  I  can  think  of  any  man  or  woman.  He's  straight 
and " 

"  But  a  girl's  mad  when  the  love-song  rises  in  her 
heart,"  interjected  Kernaghan. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Patsy,  but  it  isn't  so  bad  as  you  think. 
I  had  a  talk  with  her  to-day.  Perhaps  we  can  get  him 
away  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  there  can't  much  happen." 

"  Can't  much  happen,  wid  that  ould  wumman  in  the 
gardin  there,  an'  the  young  wife  upstairs,  an'  the  fine 
young  fella  sittin'  alone  in  his  room  achin'  for  the  sound 
of  her  voice!  Shure,  they're  together  at  this  minnit, 
p'r'aps." 

The  Young  Doctor  tapped  Kernaghan  again  on  the 
head  with  his  whip.  "  You're  a  wild  Irishman  still," 
he  said,  "but  I  think  none  the  worse  of  you  for  that. 
Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  Keep  your  head, 
Patsy."  And,  whipping  up  his  horse,  he  nodded  and 
drove  on. 

It  may  be  that  Kernaghan's  instinct  was  no  truer  than 
this  own.  It  may  be  the  Young  Doctor  knew  Kernaghan's 
instinct  to  be  true ;  and  it  also  may  be  that  what  Ker- 
naghan thought  possible,  the  Young  Doctor  thought  pos- 
sible ;  but  he  also  felt  that  things  must  be  as  they  must  be. 

In  any  case  Kernaghan  was  right ;  for  while  the  little 
flamboyant  lady  from  Slow  Down  Ranch  was  busy  in 
the  front  garden,  Louise  Mazarine  was  with  her  wounded 
guest,  with  the  man  who  had  saved  her  husband's  money 
and  perhaps  his  life.  The  wounded  guest  regarded  his 
wound  as  a  blessing  almost.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he 
did  not  notice  that  his  host  had  only  been  silently  grateful. 
5 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  ORIENTAL  WAY  OF  IT 

ORLANDO  GUISE'S  mother  was  lacking  in  the  caution 
which  mothers  generally  have  where  their  men-children 
are  concerned.  If  she  had  had  sense,  she  would  have 
insisted  on  removing  Orlando  to  Slow  Down  Ranch  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment,  even  at  some  risk  to  his 
physical  well-being.  She  ought  to  have  seen  that  Joel 
Mazarine  was  possessed  of  a  jealousy  as  unreasoning 
as  that  of  an  animal;  she  ought  to  have  discouraged 
Louise's  kindnesses.  If  the  kindnesses  had  been  only  the 
ordinary  acts  of  a  mistress  of  a  house  to  a  guest  who  had 
saved  her  husband's  life — dishes  made  by  her  own  hand, 
strengthening  drinks,  flowers  picked  and  arranged  by 
herself — there  could  have  been  no  cause  for  nervousness. 
Each  thing  done  by  Louise,  however,  came  from  a  per- 
sonally and  emotionally  solicitous  interest.  It  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  glance  of  the  eye,  in  the  voice  a  little 
unsteady,  in  girlish  over-emphasis,  in  that  shining  some- 
thing in  the  face,  which,  in  Ireland,  they  call  the  love- 
light. 

So  great  was  Mrs.  Guise's  vanity,  so  intense  her  content 
in  her  son,  so  proud  was  she  of  other  people's  admiration 
of  him,  no  matter  who  they  were,  that  she  welcomed 
Louise's  attentions.  Kernaghan  was  wrong.  Mazarine 
had  not  forbidden  Louise  to  enter  Orlando's  room.  That 
was  the  contradictory  nature  of  the  man.  His  innate 
savagery  made  him  brood  wickedly  over  her  natural  house- 
wifely attentions  to  the  man  who  had  probably  saved  his 
own  life,  and  certainly  had  saved  him  six  thousand  dollars ; 
yet  it  was  as  though  he  must  see  the  worst  that  might 
66 


THE  ORIENTAL  WAY  OF  IT  67 

happen,  must  even  encourage  a  danger  which  he  dreaded. 
When  the  Methodist  minister  from  Askatoon  came  to  offer 
prayer  for  Orlando,  Joel  joined  in  it  with  all  the  unction 
of  a  class-leader,  while  every  word  of  the  prayer  trembled 
in  an  atmosphere  of  hatred.  A's  Patsy  Kernaghan  said, 
he  himself  watched,  and  he  paid  the  Chinaman  to  watch,  in 
the  vain  belief  that  money  would  secure  faithful  service. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  told  him  that  his  powerful 
medicine  had  brought  back  the  bloom  to  his  young  wife's 
checks  and  the  light  to  her  eyes,  but  how  much  he  believed 
he  could  not  himself  have  said.  One  thing  he  did  know : 
it  was  that  Orlando  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  everything 
except  his  mother,  the  state  of  the  crops  and  the  reports 
on  his  own  cattle.  Also  Orlando  had  made  a  good  im- 
pression when  he  resented,  with  a  funny  little  oath  and 
a  funnier  little  giggle,  but  with  some  heat  in  his  cheek, 
Joel's  ostentatious  proposal  to  pay  the  Young  Doctor's 
bill  for  attendance. 

The  offer  had  been  made  when  Louise  was  standing  in 
the  doorway ;  but  the  old  man  did  not  notice  that  Louise 
colored  in  sympathy  with  the  flush  in  Orlando's  face.  It 
was  as  though  a  delicate  nerve  had  been  touched  in  each 
of  them ;  but  it  was  a  nerve  that  had  never  been  sensitive 
until  they  had  met  each  other  for  the  first  time.  Orlando's 
miother  dealt  with  the  situation  in  her  own  way.  She  said 
in  a  somewhat  awkward  pause,  following  the  old  man's 
proposal,  that  a  doctor's  bill  was  a  personal  thing,  and 
she  would  as  soon  allow  someone  else  to  pay  it  as  to  pay 
for  her  washing1.  At  this  Orlando  giggled  again,  and 
ventured  the  remark  that  no  doctor  could  dispense  enough 
medicine  in  a  year  to  pay  her  laundry  bill  for  a  month — 
which  pleased  the  old  lady  greatly  and  impelled  her  to 
swing  her  skirt  kittenishly. 


68  WILD  YOUTH 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Li  Choo  came  knocking  at  the 
open  door  with  a  message  for  Mazarine.  It  related  to  a 
horse-accident  at  what  was  known  as  One  Mile  Spring; 
and  Mazarine,  having  frowned  his  wife  out  of  the  door- 
way, made  his  way  downstairs  and  prepared  for  his  short 
journey  to  the  Spring.  Before  he  left,  however,  he  called 
Li  Choo  aside,  and  what  he  said  caused  Li  Choo  to  answer : 
"  Me  get  money,  me  do  job.  Me  keep  eyes  open.  Me  tell 
you." 

From  a  window  Louise  had  watched  the  colloquy,  and 
she  knew,  as  well  as  though  she  stood  'beside  them,  what 
was  being  said.  Li  Choo  had  told  the  truth :  he  had  got 
the  cash,  and  he  would  do  the  job.  But  not  alone  from 
Joel  Mazarine  did  he  get  money.  Only  two  mornings 
•before,  Louise,  for  all  the  extra  work  he  had  had  to  do 
during  Orlando's  illness  and  without  thought  of  bribery, 
had  given  him  a  beautiful  gold  ten-dollar-piece  with  a  hole 
in  it.  If  the  piece  had  been  minus  the  hole,  Li  Choo  would 
have  returned  it  to  her,  for  he  would  have  served  her 
for  nothing  till  the  end  of  his  days,  had  it  been  possible. 
Because  there  was  a  hole  in  it,  however,  and  he  could  put 
a  string  through  it  and  wear  it  around  his  neck  inside  his 
waistcoat,  he  took  it,  blinking  his  beady  eyes  at  her ;  and 
he  said: 

"  Me  watch  most  petic'ler,  mlissy.  Me  tell  boss  Maza- 
line  ev'rything  me  see ! "  And  he  giggled  almost  as 
Orlando  might  have  done. 

After  which  Li  Choo  slip-slopped  away  to  his  work 
behind  the  kitchen.  When  he  saw  Orlando's  mother  in 
the  garden  and  the  Young  Doctor  drive  to  Askatoon,  and 
Patsy  Kernaghan  mount  an  aged  cayuse  and  ride  off, 
he  clucked  with  his  tongue  and  then  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  prepared  a  tray  on  which  he  placed  several  pieces  of 


THE  ORIENTAL  WAY  OF  IT  69 

a  fine  old  set  of  china,  which  had  belonged  to  Mazarine's 
grandmother  and  was  greatly  prized  by  the  oldrtnan.  Then 
he  clucked  to  the  half-breed  woman,  and  she  made  ready 
as  sumptuous  a  tea  as  ever  entered  the  room  of  a 
convalescent. 

Like  a  waiter  at  a  seaside  hotel,  Li  Choo  carried  the 
tray  above  his  head  on  three  fingers  to  the  staircase,  and 
as  he  mounted  to  the  landing,  called  out,  "Welly  good 
tea  me  bling  genTman."  This  was  his  way  of  warning 
Orlando  Guise,  and  whoever  might  be  with  him,  of  his 
coming. 

He  need  not  have  done  so,  for  though  Louise  was  in 
Orlando's  room,  she  was  much  nearer  to  the  door  than  she 
was  to  Orlando.  She  hastened  to  place  a  table  near  to 
Orlando,  for  the  tray  which  Li  Choo  had  brought,  and, 
as  she  did  so,  remarked  with  a  shock  at  the  cherished 
china  upon  the  tray. 

"  Li  Choo !  Li  Choo ! "  she  gasped,  reprovingly,  for 
it  was  as  though  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  had  been  burgled. 
But  Li  Choo,  clucking,  slip-slopped  out  of  the  room  and 
down  the  stairs  as  happy  as  an  Oriental  soul  could  be. 
What  was  in  the  far  recesses  of  that  soul,  where  these  two 
young  people  were  concerned,  must  remain  unrevealed; 
imt  Li  Choo  and  the  half-breed  woman  in  their  own  lan- 
guage— which  was  almost  without  words — clucked  and 
grunted  their  understanding. 

Left  alone  again,  Louise  found  herself  seated  with  only 
the  table  between  herself  and  Orlando,  pouring  himi  tea 
and  offering  him  white  frosted  cake  like  that  dispensed  at 
weddings ;  while  Orlando  chuckled  his  thanks  and  thought 
what  a  wonderful  thing  it  was  that  a  bullet  in  a  man's  side 
could  bring  the  unexpected  to  pass  and  the  heart's  desire 
of  a  man  within  the  touch  of  his  fingers. 


70  WILD  YOUTH 

Their  conversation  was  like  that  of  two  chiWren.  She 
talked  of  her  bird  Richard,  which  she  had  sent  to  him 
every  morning  that  it  might  sing  to  him ;  of  her  black  cat 
Nigger,  which  sat  on  his  lap  for  many  an  hour  of  the  day ; 
of  the  dog  Jumbo,  which  said  its  prayers  for  him  to  get 
well,  for  a  piece  of  sugar — that  was  a  trick  Louise  had 
taught  it  long  ago.  Orlando  talked  of  his  horses  and  of 
his  mother — who,  he  declared,  was  the  most  unselfish 
person  on  the  whole  continent ;  how  she  only  thought  of 
him,  and  spent  her  money  for  him,  and  gave  to  him,  never 
thinking  of  herself  at  all. 

"  She  has  the  youngest  heart  of  anyone  in  the  world," 
said  Orlando. 

Louise  did  not  even  smile  at  that.  No  one  with  a  heart 
that  was  not  infantile  could  dress  and  talk  as  Orlando's 
mother;  dressed  and  talked;  and  so  Louise  said  softly: 
"  I  am  sure  her  heart  is  a  thousand  years  younger  than 
mine — or  younger  than  mine  was."  And  then  she  blushed, 
and  Orlando  blushed,  for  he  understood  what  was  in  her 
mind — that  until  they  two  had  met,  she  was,  as  the  Young 
Doctor  said,  a  victim  of  senile  decay. 

That  was  the  nearest  they  had  come  as  yet  to  saying 
anything  which,  being  translated,  as  it  were,  through 
several  languages,  could  mean  love-making.  Their  love- 
making  had  only  been  by  an  inflection  of  the  voice,  by  a 
soft  abstraction,  by  a  tuning  of  their  spirits  to  each  other. 
They  were  indeed  like  two  children ;  and  yet  Li  Choo  was 
right  when,  in  his  dark  soul,  he  conceived  them,  to  be 
lovers,  and  thought  they  would  do  what  lovers  do — hold 
hands  and  kiss  and  whisper,  ;with  never  an  end  to  a 
sentence,  never  a  beginning. 

It  was  not  that  these  things  were  impossible  to  them. 
It  was  not  that  their  beating  pulses,  and  the  throbbing  in 


THE  ORIENTAL  WAY  OF  IT  71 

them*  was  not  the  ancient  passion  which  has  overturned 
an  empire,  or  made  a  little  spot  of  earth  as  dear  as  Heaven 
above.  It  was  that  these  were  forbidden  things,  and 
Louise  and  Orlando  accepted  that  they  were  forbidden. 

How  long  would  this  position  last  ?  What  would  the 
future  bring?  This  was  only  the  fluttering  approach  of 
two  natures,  from  everlasting  distances.  The  girl  had  been 
roused  out  of  sleep ;  from  her  understanding  the  curtains 
had  'been  flung  'back  so  that  she  might  see.  How  long 
would  it  last,  this  simple,  unsoiled  story  of  two  lives? 

Orlando  reached  out  his  hand  to  put  his  cup  back  upon 
the  tray.  As  her  own  hand  was  extended  to  take  it,  her 
fingers  touched  hisy  Then  her  face  flushed,  and  a  warm 
cloud  seemed  to  bedim  her  eyes.  There  flashed  into  her 
mind  the  deep,  overwhelming  fact  that  for  three  long  years 
a  rough,  heavy  hand  had  held  her  captive  by  day,  by  night, 
in  a  pitiless  ownership.  She  got  to  her  feet  suddenly ;  her 
breath  came  quickly,  and  she  turned  towards  the  door  as 
though  she  meant  to  go. 

At  that  instant  Li  Choo  slid  softly  into  the  room,  caught 
up  the  tray,  poised  it  on  'his  three  fingers  over  his  head 
and  said :  "  Old  Mazarine,  he  come.  Be  queeck !  "• 

They  'heard  the  heavy  footsteps  of  Joel  Mazarine  com- 
ing into  the  hall-way  just  below. 

The  old  man,  as  though  moved  by  some  uncanny  in- 
stinct, had  come  back  from  One  Mile  Spring  by  a  round- 
about trail.  As  the  Chinaman  came  out  upon  the  landing 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  Joel  appeared  at  the  'bottom,  in 
the  doorway  which  gave  upon  the  staircase.  Two  or  three 
steps  down  shufH'ed  the  Chinaman;  then,  as  it  were  by 
accident,  he  stumbled  and  fell,  the  tray  with  the  beautiful 
china  crashing  down  to  the  feet  of  Joel  Mazarine,  fol- 
lowed by  the  tumbling,  chirruping  Li  Choo. 


72  WILD  YOUTH 

Oriental  duplicity  had  made  no  wrong  reckoning.  The 
old  man  fell  back  into  the  hall-way  from  the  crashing 
china  and  tumbling  Oriental,  who  plunged  out  into  the 
hall-way  muttering  and  begging  pardon,  cursing  his  soul 
in  good  Chinese  and  bad  English. 

Looking  down  on  the  wreck,  Mazarine  saw  his  treas- 
ured porcelain  shattered.  With  a  growl  of  rage  he  stooped 
and  seized  Li  Choo  by  the  collar,  flung  him  out  of  the 
door,  and  then  with  his  heavy  boot  kicked  him  once,  twice, 
thrice,  a  dozen  times,  anywhere,  everywhere ! 

Li  Choo,  however,  had  done  his  work  well.  Joel 
Mazarine  never  knew  the  reason  for  the  Chinaman's  down- 
fall on  the  stairway,  for,  in  the  turmoil,  Louise  had  slipped 
away  in  safety.  His  rage  had  vented  itself ;  but,  if  he 
had  seen  Li  Choo's  face  an  hour  after,  as  he  talked  to  the 
half-breed  woman  in  the  kitchen,  he  might  have  had  some 
qualms  for  his  cruel  assault.  Passion  and  hatred  in  the 
face  of  an  Oriental  are  not  lovely  things  to  see. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES 

"  IT'S  been  a  great  day — great." 

Orlando  Guise  leaned  lazily  on  the  neck  of  the  broncho 
he  was  riding,  peering  between  its  ears,  over  the  lonely 
prairie,  to  the  sunset  which  was  making  beautiful  the 
western  sky.  It  was  as  though  there  was  a  golden  fire 
behind  vast  hills  of  mauve  and  pink,  .purple  and  saffron ; 
but  the  glow  was  so  soft  as  to  suggest  a  flame  which  did 
not  burn ;  which  only  shed  radiance,  color  and  an  ethereal 
mist.  All  the  width  of  land  and  life  between  was  full  of 
peace  as  far  as  eye  could  see.  The  plains  were  bountiful 
with  golden  harvest,  and  the  activities  of  men  wrere  lost 
among  the  corn.  Horses  and  cattle  in  the  distance  were 
as  insects,  and  in  the  great  concave  sky  stars  still  wan 
from  the  intolerant  light  of  their  master,  the  Sun,  looked 
timidly  out  to  see  him  burn  his  way  down  to  the  under- 
world. 

"Great — but  it  might- Shave  been  greater!"  added 
Orlando,  gazing  intently  at  the  sunset. 

Yet,  as  he  spoke,  his  eyes  gazed  at  something  infinitely 
farther  away  than  the  sunset — even  to  the  goal  of  his 
desire.  (He  was  thinking  that,  great  as  the  da)'-  had  been, 
with  all  he  had  done  and  seen,  it  lacked  a  glimpse  of  the 
face  he  had  not  seen  for  a  whole  month.  The  voice — he 
had  not  heard  it  since  it  softly  cried,  "  Oh,  Orlando ! " 
when  the  Chinaman  crashed  down  the  staircase  with  the 
tray  of  cherished  porcelain,  and  had  been  maltreated  by 
the  owner  of  Tralee. 

How  many  times  since  then  had  those  words  rung  in 

73 


74  WILD  YOUTH 

his  ears !  Louise  had  never  called  him  by  narrte  save  that 
once,  and  then  it  was  the  cry  of  a  soul  surprised,  the  wail 
of  one  who  felt  a  heart-break  coming  on,  the  approach  of 
merciless  Fate.  It  was  the  companionship  of  trouble; 
it  was  the  bird,  pursued  by  a  hawk,  calling  across  the  lonely 
valley  to  its  mate.  "  Oh,  Orlando ! "  He  had  waked  in  the 
morning  with  the  words  in  his  ears  to  make  him  face  the 
day  with  hope  and  cheerfulness.  It  had  sounded  in  his 
ears  at  night  as  he  sat  on  the  wide  stoop  watching  the 
moon  and  listening  to  the  night-birds,  or  vaguely  heard 
his  mother  babbling  things  he  did  not  hear. 

lit  is  a  memorable  moment  for  a  man  when  he  hears  for 
the  first  time  his  "little  name,"  as  the  French  call  it, 
spoken  by  the  woman  he  loves.  It  is  as  the  sound  of  a 
bell  in  the  distance,  a  familiar  note  with  a  new  meaning, 
revealing  new  things  of  life  in  the  panorama  of  the  mind. 
By  those  two  words  Orlando  knew  what  was  in  the  mind 
of  Louise.  They  were  a  prayer  for  protection  and  a  cry 
for  comradeship. 

When  Louise  first  clasped  hands  with  the  Young 
Doctor  on  her  arrival  at  Askatoon,  the  soft  appeal  of  her 
fingers  had  made  him  understand  that  loneliness  where  she 
lived,  and  to  bear  which  she  sought  help.  But  the  "  Oh, 
Orlando ! "  which  was  wrung  from  her,  almost  unknow- 
ingly, was  the  cry  of  one  who,  to  loneliness,  had  added 
fear  and  tragedy.  Yet  behind  the  fear,  tragedy  and  lone- 
liness there  was  the  revelation  of  a  heart. 

A  courtship  is  a  long  or  a  short  ceremonial  or  con- 
vention, a  make-believe,  by  which  people  pretend  that  they 
slowly  come  to  know  and  love  each  other;  but  lovers 
know  that  each  understands  the  other  by  one  note  or 
inflection  of  the  voice,  by  one  little  act  of  tenderness. 
These,  or  one  of  these,  tell  the  whole  story,  the  everlast- 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  75 

ing  truth  by  which  men  and  women  learn  how  good  at  its 
worst  life  is,  or  speak  the  lightning-lie  by  which  the  bones 
of  a  dead  world  are  exposed  to  the  disillusioned  soul. 

THiis  had  been  a  great  day,  because,  in  it,  physical  life 
had  joyously  celebrated  itself  in  a  wild  business  of  the 
hills;  in  air  so  fresh  and  sweet  that  it  almost  sparkled 
to  the  eye;  in  a  sun  that  was  hot,  but  did  not  punish; 
at  a  sport  by  which  the  earliest  men  in  the  earliest  age  of 
the  world  made  life  a  rare  sensation.  The  man  who  has 
not  chased  the  wild  pony  in  the  hills  with  the  lasso  on  his 
arm,  riding,  as  they  say  in  the  West  "  hell  for  leather," 
down  the  steep  hillside,  over  the  rock  and  the  rough  land, 
balancing  on  his  broncho  with  the  dexterity  of  a  bird  or 
a  baboon,  has  failed  to  find  one  of  life's  supreme  pleasures. 

In  the  foothills,  many  miles  away  from  Slow  Down 
Ranch  and  Tralee,  there  lived  a  herd  of  wild  ponies,  and 
it  had  been  the  ambition  of  a  dozen  ranchmen  and  broncho- 
busters  thereabouts  to  capture  one  or  many.  More  than, 
once  Orlando  had  seen  a  little  gray  broncho,  with  legs 
like  the  wrists  of  a  lady,  with  a  tail  like  a  comet,  frisking 
among  the  rocks  and  the  brushwood,  or  standing  alert, 
moveless  and  alone  upon  some  promontory;  and  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  if,  and  when,  there  came  a  day  of 
broncho-busting,  he  would  become  a  hunter  of  the  little 
gray  mare.  When  the  news  came  that  the  ranchmen  for 
miles  around  were  preparing  for  the  drive  of  the  hills, 
he  determined  to  take  part  in  it,  against  the  comlmands 
of  the  Young  Doctor,  who  said  that  he  would  run  risk  in 
[Hoing  so,  for,  though  his  wound  was  healed,  he  should 
still  avoid  strain  and  fatigue. 

There  is  no  fatigue  like  that  of  broncho-busting.  It  is 
not  galloping  on  the  turf ;  it  is  being  shaken  and  tossed 
in  a  saddle  which  the  knees  can  never  grip,  on  the  back 


76  WILD  YOUTH 

of  something  gone  mad — for  the  maddest,  wisest,  care- 
fullest  thing  on  earth  is  a  broncho,  which  itself  was  once 
a  wild  pony  of  the  hills,  and  has  been  hunted  down,  thrown 
•by  the  lasso,  saddled,  bridled  and  heart-broken  all  in  an 
hour.  When  the  broncho  which  was  once  a  wild  pony 
sets  out  on  the  chase  after  its  own,  there  is  nothing 
like  it  in  the  world ;  and  so  Orlando  found. 

The  veteran  broncho-busters  and  ranchmen  gave  him 
no  vociferous  welcome  as  he  appeared  among  them.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  reputation  which  he  had  already  gained 
for  courage,  such  as  he  had  shown  in  the  recent  affair 
when  he  had  driven  off  the  men  who  were  robbing  Joel 
Mazarine,  and  also  for  an  idea,  steadily  spreading,  that  he 
was  masquerading,  and  that  behind  all  was  a  curly-headed, 
intrepid,  out-door  "  white  man,"  he  would  not  have  had 
what  he  called  a  great  day. 

He  could  not  throw  the  lasso  as  well  as  many  another, 
but  he  could  ride  as  well  as  any  man  that  ever  rode ;  and 
the  broncho  given  him  to  ride  that  day  was  one  sufficiently 
unreliable  in  character  (though  sure-footed  in  travel) 
to  test  him.  to  the  utmost.  He  had  endured  the  test ;  he  had 
even  got  his  little  gray  mare,  lassoing  her  like  a  veteran. 
He  had  helped  to  break  her,  and  had  sent  her  home  from 
the  improvised  corral  by  one  of  his  men.  He  had  then 
parted  from  the  others,  who  had  dispersed  to  their  various 
ranches  with  their  prizes,  and  had  ridden  away  on  the 
broncho  with  which  he  had  done  such  a  good  day's  work. 
He  had  had  the  thrill  of  the  hunter,  riding  like  any  wild 
Indian  through  the  hills ;  he  had  had  the  throb  of  conquest 
in  his  veins ;  but  while  other  men  had  shouted  and  happily 
blasphemed  as  they  rode  and  captured,  he  had  only  giggled 
in  excitement. 

As  he  looked  now  into  the  sunset,  he  was  thinking  of 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  7? 

the  little  gray  mare,  with  the  legs  like  the  wrists  of  a  lady 
and  the  soft,  bright,  wild  eye,  which  had  fought  and  fought 
to  resist  subjection;  but  which,  overpowered  by  the 
stronger  will  of  man,  had  yielded  like  a  lady,  and  had 
been  ridden  away  to  Slow  Down  Ranch,  its  bucking  over 
for  ever,  captive  and  subdued. 

Orlando  was  picturing  the  little  gray  mare  with  Louise 
on  its  back.  He  had  no  right  to  think  of  Louise;  yet 
there  was  never  an  hour  in  which  he  did  not  think  of  her. 
And  Louise  had  no  right  to  think  of  Orlando;  yet,  sleeping 
and  waking,  he  was  with  her.  Their  homes  were  four 
miles  apart,  although,  in  one  sense,  they  were  a  million 
miles  apart  by  law  and  the  convention  which  shuts  a 
woman  off  from  the  love  of  men  other  than  her  husband ; 
and  yet  in  thought  they  were  as  near  together  always  as 
though  they  had  lain  in  the  same  cradle  and  grown  up 
under  the  same  roof-tree. 

There  was  something  about  the  gray  pony,  with  the 
look  of  a  captive  in  its  eye,  a  wildness  in  subjection,  like 
the  girl  at  Tralee — the  girl  suddenly  come  to  be  woman, 
with  her  free  soul  born  into  understanding,  yet  who  was 
as  much  a  captive  as  though  in  prison,  and  guarded  by  a 
warder  with  a  long  beard,  a  carnivorous  head,  and  boots 
greased  with  tallow. 

Since  they  had  parted,  the  day  after  Li  Choo  had 
averted  a  domestic  "  scene "  or  tragedy,  the  search  had 
gone  on  by  the  mounted  police — "the  Riders  of  the 
'Plains  " — for  the  men  who  had  attempted  to  rob  Mazarine, 
and  to  put  Orlando  out  of  action  by  a  bullet.  Suspicion 
had  been  directed  against  the  McMahons,  but  Joel  Maza- 
rine had  declared  that  it  was  not  the  McMahons  who  had 
attacked  him,  although  they  were  masked.  There  was 
nothing  strange  in  that,  because,  as  the  Inspector  of  the 


78  WILD  YOUTH 

Riders  said:  "That  lot  is  too  fly  to  do  the  job  them- 
selves ;  you  bet  they  paid  others  to  do  it." 

Orlando  had  no  wish  to  see  the  criminals  caught  or 
punished.  Somehow,  secretly,  he  looked  upon  the  assault 
and  his  wound  as  a  blessing.  It  had  brought  him  near 
to  his  other  self,  his  mate  in  the  scheme  of  things.  There 
was  something  almost  pagan  and  primitive,  something 
near  to  the  very  beginning  of  things  in  what  these  two 
felt  for  each  other.  It  was  as  though  they  really  be- 
longed to  a  world  of  lovers  that  "  lived  before  the  god  of 
Love  was  born." 

As  Orlando  sat  watching  the  sunset,  Louise's  last 
words  to  him,  "  Oh,  Orlando !  "  kept  ringing  in  his  ears. 
IHje  thought  of  what  had  happened  that  very  morning 
before  he  started  for  the  hills.  Soon  after  daybreak, 
Li  Choo  the  Chinaman  had  come  slipslopping  to  him  at 
Slow  Down  Ranch,  and  had  said  to  him  without  any 
preliminaries,  or  any  reason  for  his  coming : 

"I  bling  Mlissy  Mazaline  what  you  like.  She  cly. 
What  you  want  me  do,  I  do.  That  Mazaline,  gloddam! 
I  gloddam  Mazaline ! " 

Orlando  had  no  desire  for  intrigue,  but  Li  Choo  stood 
there  waiting,  and  the  devotion  the  Chinaman  had  shown 
made  him  tear  a 'piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket-book  and 
write  on  it  the  one  word  "Always."  He  then  folded  the 
paper  up  until  it  was  no  bigger  than  a  waistcoat  button, 
and  gave  it  to  Li  Choo.  Also,  he  offered  a  five-dollar  bill, 
which  Li  Choo  refused  to  take.  When  he  persisted,  the 
Chinaman  opened  his  loose  blue  jacket  and  showed  a  ten- 
dollar  gold-piece  on  a  string  around  his  neck. 

"  Mlissy  Mazaline  glive  me  that;  it  all  plenty  me,"  he 
said.  "  You  want  me  come,  I  come.  What  you  say  do, 
I  do.  I  say,  Gloddam  Mazaline !  " 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  79 

That  scene  came  to  Orlando's  mind  now,  and  it  agi- 
tated him  as  the  incident  itself  had  not  stirred  him  when  it 
happened.  The  broncho  he  was  riding1,  as  though  the 
disturbance  in  Orlando's  breast  had  passed  into  its  own 
wilful  body,  suddenly  became  restless  to  be  off,  and,  as 
Orlando  gave  no  encouragement,  showed  signs  of  bucking. 

At  that  moment  Orlando  saw  in  the  distance,  far 
north  of  both  Tralee  and  Slow  Down  Ranch,  a  horse,  rid- 
den by  a  woman,  galloping  on  the  prairie.  Presently,  as  he 
watched  the  headlong  gallop,  the  horse  came  down  and 
the  rider  was  thrown.  He  watched  intently  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  saw  that  the  woman  did  not  move,  but  lay 
still  beside  the  fallen  horse. 

He  dug  his  heels  into  the  broncho's  side,  and  although 
it  'had  done  its  day's  work,  it  reached  out  upon  the  trail  as 
though  fresh  from  the  corral.  It  bucked  malevolently 
as  it  went,  but  it  went. 

It  was  apparent  that  no  one  else  had  seen  the  accident. 
Orlando  had  been  at  a  point  of  vantage  on  a  lonely  rise 
about  eighty  feet  above  the  level  of  the  prairie.  Where 
horse  and  rider  lay  was  a  good  two  miles,  but  within 
eight  minutes  he  had  reached  the  spot. 

Flinging  the  bridle  over  the  broncho's  neck,  he  dis- 
mounted. As  he  did  so,  a  cry  broke  from  him.  It  was,  as 
it  were,  an  answer  to  the  *'  Oh,  Orlando !  "  which  had  been 
ringing  in  his  ears.  There,  lying  upon  the  ground  beside 
the  horse,  with  its  broken  leg  caught  in  a  gopher's  hole, 
was  Louise. 

Orlando's  ruddy  face  turned  white ;  something  seemed 
to  blind  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  he  was  on  his  knees 
beside  her,  lifting  up  her  head,  feeling  her  heart.  Pres- 
ently the  color  came  back  to  his  face  with  a  rush.  Her 
heart  was  beating ;  her  pulse  trembled  under  his  fingers ; 


8o  WILD  YOUTH 

she  was  only  unconscious.  But  was  there  other  injury? 
Was  arm  or  leg  broken?  He  called  to  her.  Then  with 
an  exclamation  of  self-reproach,  he  laid  her  down  again 
on  the  ground,  ran  to  his  broncho,  caught  the  water-bottle 
from  the  saddle,  lifted  her  head,  and  poured  some  water 
between  the  white  lips. 

Presently  her  eyes  opened,  and  she  stared  confusedly 
at  Orlando,  unable  to  realize  what  had  happened.  Then 
memory  came  back,  and  with  it  her  very  life-Wood  seemed 
to  flow  like  water  through  the  opening  gates  of  a  flume, 
with  all  the  weight  of  the  river  behind.  As  her  face 
flooded,  she  shivered  with  emotion.  She  was  resting 
against  his  knee;  her  head  was  upon  his  arm;  his  face 
was  very  near ;  and  there  was  that  in  his  eyes  which  told 
a  story  that  any  woman,  loving,  would  be  thrilled  at 
seeing.  What  restrained  him  from  clasping  her  to  his 
breast  ?  What  kept  her  arms  by  her  side? 

The  sun  was  gone,  leaving  only  a  glimmer  behind ;  the 
swift  twilight  of  the  prairie  was  drawing  down.  Warm 
currents  of  air  were  passing  like  waves  of  a  sea  of  breath 
over  the  wide  plains;  the  stars  were  softly  stinging  the 
sky,  and  a  bright  moon  was  asserting  itself  in  the  growing 
dusk.  Here  they  were  who,  without  words  or  acts,  had 
been  to  each  other  what  Adam  and  Eve  were  in  the  Gar- 
den, without  furtiveness,  and  guiltless  of  secret  acts 
which  poison  Love.  What  restrained  them  was  native, 
childlike  camaraderie,  intense,  unusual  and  strange.  The 
world  would  call  them  romanticists,  if  they  believed  that 
this  restraint  could  be.  But  there  was  something  more. 
With  all  their  frank  childlikeness,  there  was  also  a  shy- 
ness, a  reserve,  which  would  not  have  been,  if  either  had 
ever  eaten  of  the  Fruit  of  Understanding  until  they  met 
each  other  for  the  first  time. 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  81 

"  Are  you — are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  asked,  his  voice  calmer 
than  his  spirit,  his  heart  beating  terribly  hard 

"  I'm  all  right,"  she  answered.  "  I  fell  soft.  You  see, 
I'm  very  light." 

"No  bones  broken?  Are  you  sure?"  he  asked 
solicitously. 

She  sat  erect,  drawing  away  from  his  arms  and  the  sup- 
port of  his  knee.  "  Don't  you  see  my  legs  and  arms  are 
all  right !  Help  mte  up,  please,"  she  added,  and  stretched 
out  a  hand. 

Then,  all  at  once,  *he  saw  the  horse  lying  near.  Again 
she  shivered,  and  her  hand  was  thrown  out  in  a  gesture 
of  pain. 

"  Oh,  see — see ! "  she  cried.    "  His  leg  is  broken." 

She  loved  animals  far  more  than  human  beings.  There 
were  good  reasons  for  it.  She  had  fared  hard  in  life  at  the 
hands  of  men  and  women,  because  the  only  ones  with 
whom,  in  her  seclusion,  she  had  had  to  do,  had  sacrificed 
her,  all  save  one — the  man  beside  her.  Animal  life  had 
something  in  it  akin  to  her  own  voiceless  being.  Her 
spirit  had  never  been  vocal  until  Orlando  came. 

"  Oh,  how  wicked  I've:  been ! "  she  cried.  ..."  I 
couldn't  bear  it  any  longer.  He  wouldn't  let  me  ride  alone, 
go  anywhere  alone.  I  had  to  do  it.  I'd  never  ridden  this 
horse  before.  My  own  mare  wasn't  fit.  See — see.  It's 
my  ankle  that  ought  to  be  broken,  not  his." 

Orlando  got  to  his  feet.  "  Look  the  other  way,"  he 
said.  "  Turn  round,  please.  I'll  put  him  out  of  pain. 
He  bolted  with  you,  and  he'd  have  killed  you,  if  he  could; 
but  that  doesn't  m&tter.  He  can't -be  saved.  Turn  round, 
don't  look  this  way." 

She  had  been  commanded  to  do  things  all  her  life,  first 
by  her  mother,  tyrant-hearted  and  selfish,  and  then  by  her 
6 


82  WILD  YOUTH 

husband,  an  overlord,  with  a  savage  soul;  and  she  had 
obeyed  always,  because  she  always  seemed  to  be  in  the 
grasp  of  something  against  which  no  pressure  could  avail. 
She  was  being  commanded  now,  but  there  was  that  in  the 
voice  which,  while  commanding  her,  made  her  long  to  do 
as  she  was  bid.  It  was  an  obedience  filled  with  passion, 
resigning  itself  to  the  will  of  a  force  which  was  all  gentle- 
ness, but  oh,  so  compelling ! 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  presently; 
Orlando  had  opened  a  vein  in  the  chestnut's  neck,  and  its 
life-blood  slowly  ebbed  away. 

As  he  turned  towards  her  again,  Orlando  was  startled 
•by  a  sudden  action  on  the  part  of  his  broncho.  Whether 
it  was  the  smell  of  blood  which  frightened  it,  or  death 
itself,  which  has  its  own  terrors  for  animal  life,  or  whether 
it  was  as  though  a  naked,  shivering  animal  soul  passed 
by,  the  broncho  started,  shied  and  presently  broke  into  a 
trot — then,  before  Orlando  could  reach  it,  into  a  gallop, 
and  was  away  down  the  prairie  in  the  direction  of  Slow 
Down  Ranch. 

"  That's  queer,"  he  said,  and  he  gave  a  nervous  little 
laugh.  "  It's  the  worst  of  luck,  and — and  we're  twelve 
miles  from  Tralee,"  he  added  slowly. 

"  It's  terrible ! "  Louise  said,  her  fingers  twisting  to- 
gether in  an  effort  at  self-control.  "  Don't  you  see  how 
terrible  it  is  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  into  Orlando's  troubled 
face  but  cheerful  eyes. 

"  You  couldn't  walk  that  distance,  of  course,"  he 
remarked. 

She  endeavored  to  get  to  her  feet,  but  seemed  to  give 
way.  He  reached  out  his  hands.  She  took  them,  and  he 
helped  her  up.  His  face  was  anxious. 

"  Are  you  sure  you're  not  hurt  ?  "  he  asked. 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  83 

"  There's  nothing  broken,"  she  answered.  "  No  bones, 

anyway.  But  I  don't  feel "  She  swayed.  He  put 

an  arm  around  her. 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  walk  even  a  mile,"  she 
continued.  "  It's  shaken  me  so." 

"  Or  else  you're  hurt  badly  inside/'  he  said  appre- 
hensively. 

"  No,  no,  I'm  sure  not,"  she  answered.  "  It's  only  the 
shock." 

"  Can  you  walk  a  little  ?  "  he  asked.  "  This  poor  horse 
— let's  get  away  from  it.  There's  a  good  place  over  there — 
see !  "  He  pointed  to  a  little  rise  in  the  ground  where 
were  a  few  stunted  trees  and  some  long  grass  and  shrubs. 
"Can  you  walk?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  all  right,"  she  answered  nervously.  "  I 
don't  need  your  arm.  I  can  walk  by  myself." 

"  I  think  not — well,  not  yet,  anyhow,"  he  answered 
soothingly.  "  Please  do  as  you're  told.  I'm  keeping  my 
arm  around  you  for  the  present." 

Always  in  the  past  she  had  obeyed,  when  commanded 
by  her  mother  or  husband,  with  an  apathy  which  had 
smothered  her  youth.  Now  her  youth  seemed  to  drink 
eagerly  a  cup  of  obedience — as  though  it  were  the  wine  of 
life  itself.  She  even  longed  to  obey  the  voice  whispering 
in  her  soul  from  ever  so  far  away :  "  Close — close  to  him ! 
Home  is  in  his  arms." 

With  all  her  unconscious  revelation  of  herself,  how- 
ever, there  was  that  in  her  which  was  pure  maidenliness. 
For,  married  as  she  was,  she  had  never  in  any  real  sense 
been  a  wife,  or  truly  understood  what  wifedom  meant, 
or  heard  in  her  heart  the  call  of  the  cradle.  She  had  been 
the  victim  of  possession,  which  had  meant  no  more  to  her 


84  WILD  YOUTH 

than  to  be,  as  it  were,  subjected  daily  to  the  milder  tortures 
of  the  Inquisition. 

Yet  she  knew  and  could  realize  to  the  full  that  a  power 
which  had  her  in  control,  which  possessed  her  by  the 
rights  of  the  law,  prevented  her — and  would  prevent  her 
by  whatever  torture  was  possible — from  friendship,  alli- 
ance, or  whatever  it  might  be,  with  Orlando.  She  knew 
the  law:  one  wife  to  one  husband;  and  the  wife  to  look 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  to  the  east  nor  to  the 
west,  to  the  north  nor  to  the  south,  but  to  remain,  and  be 
constant  in  remaining,  the  helpmeet,  the  housewife,  the  sole 
property  of  her  husband,  no  matter  what  that  husband 
might  be — vinous,  vicious,  vagrant,  vengeful  or  any  other 
things,  good  or  bad. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  glad  when  you  see  me  come  in  ?  " 
Joel  Mazarine  had  remarked  to  her  suddenly  the  day 
before. 

"If  you'd  had  some  husbands,  you  might  have  reason 
for  bein'  the  statue  and  the  dummy  you  are.  Am  I  a 
drunkard  ?  Am  I  a  thief  ?  Am  I  a  night-hawk  ?  Do  I 
go  off  lookin'  for  other  women?  Don't  I  keep  the  com- 
mandments ?  Ain't  you  got  a  home  here  as  good  as  any 
in  the  land?  Didn't  I  take  you  out  of  poverty,  and  make 
you  head  of  all  this,  with  people  to  wait  on  you  and  all 
the  rest  of  it?" 

That  was  the  way  he  had  talked,  and  somehow  she  had 
not  seemed  able  to  bear  it;  and  she  had  said  to  him,  in 
unexpected  revolt,  that  her  tongue  was  her  own,  and  what 
was  in  her  mind  was  her  own,  even  if  her  body  wasn't. 

Then,  in  a  fury,  he  had  caught  his  riding-whip  from  the 
wall  to  lash  her  with  it,  just  when  Li  Choo  the  Chinaman 
appeared  with  a  message  which  he  delivered  at  the  appro- 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  85 

priate  moment,  though  he  had  had  it  to  deliver  for  some 
time.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  the  clerk  of  the  court 
in  the  neighboring  town  of  Waterway  wished  to  see  him 
at  once  on  urgent  business.  The  message  had  been  left 
by  a  rancher  in  passing. 

As  Li  Choo  delivered  the  word,  he  managed  to  put  him- 
self between  Mazarine  and  his  wife  in  such  a  way  as  to 
enrage  the  old  man,  who  struck  the  Chinaman  twice 
savagely  across  the  shoulders  with  the  whip,  and  then 
stamped  out  of  the  house,  invoking  God  to  punish  the  re- 
bellious and  the  heathen,  while  Li  Choo,  shrinking  still 
from  the  cruel  blows,  clucked  in  his  throat.  There  was 
something  in  the  sound  which  belonged  to  the  abyss  divid- 
ing the  Eastern  from  the  Western  races. 

That  night  Louise  had  refused  to  go  to  bed;  but  at 
last,  fearing  physical  force,  had  obeyed,  and  had  lain 
•with  her  face  to  the  wall,  close  up  to  it,  letting  the  cold 
plaster  cool  her  hot  palms,  for  now  she  burned  with  a 
fire  which  was  consuming  the  debris  of  an  old  life — the 
fire  of  knowledge,  for  which  she  had  to  pay  so  heavily. 

"  You  couldn't  walk  even  a  little  of  the  way  to  Tralee, 
could  you?"  asked  Orlando,  when  they  had  reached  a 
shrub-covered  hillock. 

"  No,  I  couldn't  walk  it,  I'm  so  shaken.  I'm  terribly 
weak;  I  tremble  all  over,"  she  added,  as  she  sat  down 
upon  a  stone.  "  But  if  I  don't — if  I  don't  go  back — oh, 
you  know ! " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Orlando.  "  He's  the  sort 
that  would  horsewhip  a  woman." 

"  He  started  to  do  it  yesterday,"  she  answered,  "  but 
Li  Choo  came  in  time,  and  he  horsewhipped  Li  Choo 
instead." 


86  WILD  YOUTH 

"I  wouldn't  myself  be  horsewhipping  Chinamen 
much,"  said  Orlando.  "  They're  a  queer  lot." 

Suddenly  she  got  to  her  feet.  "  I  won't  stand  it.  I 
won't  stand  it  any  longer,"  she  cried.  "That  is  why 
to-day,  although  he  told  me  I  mustn't  ride,  I  took  that 
new  chestnut,  and  saddled  it  and  rode — I  didn't  care 
where  I  rode.  I  didn't  care  how  fast  the  horse  went. 
I  didn't  care  what  happened  to  me.  And  here  I  am, 

and But  oh,  I  do  care  what  happens  to  me ! "  she 

added,  her  voice  breaking.  "  I'm — I'm  frightened  of  him 
— I'm  frightened,  in  spite  of  myself.  ...  He  doesn't  treat 
me  right,"  she  added.  "  And  I'm  terribly  frightened." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  Orlando's  face  in  the  growing 
dusk — there  is  no  twilight  in  that  prairie  land — and  there 
was  that  in  it  which  made  her  feel  that  she  must  not  give 
way  any  further.  In  Orlando's  veins  was  Southern  sap, 
mixed  with  Northern  blood ;  in  Orlando's  eyes  was  a  sud- 
den look  belonging  to  that  which  defies  the  law. 

"  Don't— don't  look  like  that,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh, 
Orlando!" 

Once  more  he  heard  her  speak  his  name,  and  it  was 
like  salve  to  a  wound.  H^e  put  a  hand  upon  himself. 

"  I'll  go  to  Tralee,"  he  said,  "  if  you  don't  mind  wait- 
ing here  alone." 

"  I  can't.  I  will  not  wait  alone.  If  you  go,  then  I'll 
go  too  somehow.  .  .  .  It's  twelve  miles.  You  couldn't 
get  there  till  midnight,  and  you  couldn't  get  back  here 
with  a  wagon  for  another  couple  of  hours  from  that.  It 
would  be  daylight  then.  I  can't  stay  here  alone.  I'm 
frightened,  and  I'm  cold." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Orlando. 

He  ran  back  to  the  dead  horse,  unloosed  the  saddle 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  87 

from  its  back,  detached  from  it  a  raincoat  strapped  to 
the  pommel,  and  brought  it  to  her. 

"  This  will  keep  you  warm,"  he  said.  "  It  isn't  cold 
to-night.  You  only  feel  cold  because  you're  upset  and 
nervous." 

"  I'm  frightened,"  she  answered ;  "frightened  of  every- 
thing. Listen!  Don't  you  hear  something  stirring — 
there !  "  She  peered  fearfully  into  the  dusk  behind  them. 

"  Probably,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  lots  of  prairie 
dogs  and  things  about.  The  more  you  listen,  the  more 
you  hear  on  the  prairie,  especially  at  night." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  added : 
"  My  broncho'll  steer  straight  for  Slow  Down  Ranch,  and 
that'll  bring  my  men.  You  can  be  quite  sure  there'll  be 
a  search-party  out  from  Tralee,  too,  at  the  first  streak 
of  dawn.  You  can't  make  the  journey,  so  the  only  thing 
to  be  done  is  to  wait  here.  That  coat  will  keep  you  from 
getting  cold,  and  I'll  cut  a  lot  of  long  grass  and  make  you 
a  bed  here.  Also,  the  grass  is  warm,  and  I'll  cover  you 
with  it  and  with  pine  branches." 

"  I  can't  lie  down,"  she  answered.  "  No,  I  can't ;  I'm 
afraid.  It's  all  so  strange,  and  to-morrow,  he " 

"There's  nothing  to  be  frightened  about,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "  Nothing  at  all,  Louise." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  addressed  her  by 
name,  and  it  made  her  shiver  with  a  new  feeling.  It 
seemed  to  tell  a  long,  long  story  without  words. 

"  You  must  do  what  I  ask  you  to  do — whatever  I  ask 
you  to  do,"  he  repeated.  "  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  anything  you  ask  me  I'll  do,"  she  answered,  and 
then  added  quickly,  "  for  you  won't  ask  me  to  do  any- 
thing I  don't  want  to  do.  That's  the  difference.  You 
understand,  Orlando." 


88  WILD  YOUTH 

A  few  minutes  later  he  had  found  a  suitable  place  to 
make  a  kind  of  bed  of  grass  for  her,  and  had  prepared  it, 
with  his  knife,  cutting  the  /branches  of  small  shrubs  and 
grass  and  the  scanty  branches  of  the  pine.  When  it  was 
finished,  he  came  to  her  and  said : 

"  It's  all  ready.  Come  and  lie  down,  and  I'll  cover 
you  up." 

She  got  to  her  feet  slowly,  for  she  was  in  pain  greater 
than  she  knew,  so  absorbed  was  her  mind  in  this  new 
life  suddenly  enveloping  her,  and  then  she  said  in  a  low 
voice :  "  No,  not  yet ;  I  can't  yet.  I  want  to  sit  here. 
I've  never  felt  the  night  like  this  before.  It's  wonderful, 
and  I'm  not  nearly  so  cold  now.  I  know  I  oughtn't  to 
be  cold  at  all,  in  the  middle  of  summer  like  this." 

She  paused,  and  seemed  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
sky.  After  a  moment  she  added :  "  I  never  knew  I 
could  feel  so  far  away  from  all  the  world  as  I  do  to-night. 
But  the  sky  seems  so  near,  and  the  moon  and  the  stars 
are  so  friendly." 

"  You  haven't  slept  out  of  doors  as  I  have  hundreds 
of  times,"  he  answered.  "  The  night  and  I  are  brothers ; 
the  stars  are  my  little  cousins;  and  the  moon" — he 
giggled  in  his  boyish  way — "  is  my  maiden  aunt  She's 
so  prudish  and  so  kind  and  friendly,  as  you  say.  She's 
like  an  aunt  I  had — Aunt  Samantha.  She  was  my  father's 
sister.  I  used  to  love  her  to  visit  my  mother.  She  always 
brought  me  things,  and  she  gave  them  to  me  as  if  they 
were  on  silver  dishes — like  a  ceremony.  She  was  so  prim, 
I  used  to  call  her  Aunt  Primrose.  She  made  me  feel  as 
if  I  could  do  anything  I  liked  and  break  any  law  I  pleased. 
But  all  the  time,  like  a  saint  in  a  stained-glass  window, 
she  always  seemed  to  be  saying,  '  Yes,  you'd  like  to,  but 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  89 

you  mustn't.'  She  was  just  like  the  moon.  I'm  well 
acquainted  with  the  moon,  and " 

"  Hush !  "  Louise  interrupted.  "  Don't  you  hear  some- 
thing stirring — there,  behind  us." 

He  laughed.  "  Of  course  something's  always '  stirring 
'behind  us '  on  the  prairie,  and  things  you  can't  hear  at 
all  in  the  day  are  almost  loud  at  night.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  sounds  that  never  get  to  your  ears  when  the  sun 
is  busy,  but  when  Aunt  Primrose  Moon  is  saying, '  Hush ! 
Hush ! '  to  the  naughty  children  of  this  world,  you  can 
hear  a  whole  new  population  at  work,  cracking  away  like 
mad.  Say,  ain't  I  letting  myself  go  to-night?  "  he  added, 
giggling  again  and  sitting  down  beside  her.  "  I'm  going 
to  give  you  just  half  an  hour,  and  at  the  end  of  that  half- 
hour  you've  got  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep." 

"  I  can't — I  can't,"  she  said  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

As  though  in  response  to  an  unspoken  thought,  he  said 
casually :  "  I'm  going  to  walk  awhile  when  you've  lain 

down,  and  then "  He  pointed  to  a  spot  about  twenty 

yards  away.  "Do  you  see  the  two  big  stones  there? 
Well,  when  I've  finished  my  walk  and  my  talk  with  Aunty 
Primrose  " — he  laughed  up  at  the  moon — "  I'm  going  to 
sit  down  there  and  snooze  till  daylight."  He  pointed 
again :  "  Right  over  there  beside  those  two  rocks.  That's 
my  bed.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  a  long  sigh  came  from 
her  lips.  "  You'll  be  cold,"  she  said. 

"  No,  it's  a  hot  night,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  too  hot  as 
it  is."  And  he  loosened  his  heavy  red  shirt  at  the  throat. 

"  If  I've  got  to  go  to  bed  in  half  an  hour,"  she  said 
presently,  "  tell  me  more  about  your  Aunt  Samantha,  and 
about  yourself,  and  your  home  before  you  came  out  here, 


90  WILD  YOUTH 

and  what  you  did  when  you  were  a  little  boy — tell  me 
everything  about  yourself." 

She  was  forgetting  Tralee  for  the  moment,  and  the  man 
who  had  raised  his  hand  against  her  yesterday,  and  the  life 
she  had  lived.  Or  was  it  only  that  she  had  grown  young 
during  these  last  two  months,  and  the  young  can  so  easily 
forget ! 

"You  want  to  hear?  You  really  want  to  hear?" 
he  asked.  "  Say,  it  won't  be  a  very  interesting  story. 
Better  let  me  tell  you  about  the  broncho-busting  to-day." 

"  No,  I  want  to  hear  about  yourself,"  she  said.  She 
looked  intently  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  her  eyes 
closed  and  the  long  lashes  touched  her  cheek.  There  was 
something  very  wilful  in  her  beauty,  and  her  body  too 
had  delicate,  melancholy  lines  strange  in  one  so  young. 
She  was  not  conscious  that,  in  her  dreamy  abstraction,  she 
was  leaning  towards  him. 

It  was  but  an  instant,  though  it  seemed  to  him  an 
interminable  time,  in  which  he  fought  the  fierce  desire 
to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  and  kiss  the  lips  which,  to  his  ears, 
said  things  more  wonderful  than  he  had  ever  dreamed 
of  in  his  friendship  with  the  night  and  the  primrose  moon. 
H!e  knew,  however,  that  if  he  did  she  would  not  go  back 
to  Tralee  to-<morrow;  that  to-morrow  she  would  defy  the 
leviathan;  and  that  to-morrow  he  would  not  have  the 
courage  to  say  the  things  he  must  say  to  the  evil-hearted 
master  of  Tralee,  who,  he  knew,  would  challenge  the 
happenings  of  this  night  with  ugly  accusations.  He  must 
be  able  to  look  old  Mazarine  fearlessly  in  the  face;  he 
would  not  be  the  slave  of  opportunity.  He  was  going 
to  fight  clean.  She  was  here  beside  him  in  the  warm 
loneliness  of  the  northern  world,  and  he  was  full-grown 


THE  STARS  IN  THEIR  COURSES  91 

in  body  and  brain,  with  all  the  human  emotions  alive  in 
him ;  yet  he  would  fight  clean. 

Not  for  a  half-hour,  but  for  nearly  an  hour  he  told  her 
what  she  wished  to  know,  while  she  listened  in  a  happy 
dream ;  and  when  at  last  she  lay  down,  she  refused  his 
coverlet  of  dry  grass,  saying  that  she  was  quite  warm. 
She  declared  that  she  did  not  even  need  the  coat  he  had 
taken  from  the  saddle  of  the  dead  horse,  but  he  wrapped 
it  around  her,  and,  saying  "  Good-night "  almost  brusquely, 
inarched  away  in  the  light  of  the  dying  moon. 

The  night  wore  on.  At  first  Louise's  ears  were  sensi- 
tive to  every  sound,  and  there  were  stirrings  in  the  hillock 
by  which  she  slept,  but  she  comforted  herself  with  the 
thought  that  they  were  the  stirrings  of  lonely  little  waifs  of 
nature  like  herself.  Though  she  dared  not  let  the  thought 
take  form,  yet  she  feared,  too,  the  sound  of  human  foot- 
steps. By  and  by,  however,  in  the  sweet  quiet  of  the  night 
and  the  somnolent  light  of  the  moon,  sleep  captured  her. 
When  at  last  Orlando's  footsteps  did  crush  the  dry  grass, 
the  sound  failed  to  reach  her  ears,  for  it  was  then  not 
very  far  from  daylight,  and  she  had  slept  for  several 
hours.  Sleep  had  not  touched  Orlando's  eyes  when,  sit- 
ting down  by  the  stones  which  were  to  mark  his  resting- 
place,  he  waited  for  Louise  to  wake. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  MOON  WAS  NOT  ALONE 

OUT  on  the  prairie  under  the  light  of  the  stars  a  man 
had  fought  the  first  great  battle  of  his  life,  and  had 
emerged  victorious.  There  are  no  drawn  battles  in  the 
struggles  of  the  soul.  As  Orlando  fought,  he  was  tortured 
by  the  thought  that  none  would  believe  the  truth  to- 
morrow when  it  was  told ;  and  that  there  would  be  penalty 
though  there  was  no  crime. 

As  for  Louise,  she  could  have  returned,  almost  blindly 
defiant,  to  her  world,  hand  in  hand  with  Orlando;  and 
yet,  when  morning  came,  and  her  eyes  opened  on  the 
prairie  at  daybreak,  with  life  stirring  everywhere,  she 
was  glad  of  the  victory — though  the  shadow  of  a  great 
trouble  to  come  was  showing  in  her  eyes. 

She  knew  what  she  had  to  face  at  Tralee,  and  that  she 
had  no  proof  of  her  perfect  innocence.  It  was  of  little 
use  for  them  to  call  upon  Heaven  to  witness  what  the 
night  had  been ;  and  Joel  Mazarine,  who  distrusted  every 
man  and  woman,  would  distrust  her  with  a  stark  sternness 
which  guilt  only  could  effectively  defy ! 

Orlando's  enforced  gaiety  as  'he  invited  her  to  a  break- 
fast of  a  couple  of  biscuits,  left  from  yesterday's  broncho- 
busting,  heartened  her;  yet  both  were  conscious  of  the 
make-believe.  They  realized  that  they  were  helpless  in  the 
grip  of  harsh  circumstance.  It  was  almost  enough  to 
make  them  take  advantage  of  calumny  and  the  traps 
set  for  them  by  Fate,  and  join  hands  for  ever. 

As  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  the  same  hopeless 
yet  reckless  thought  flickered — flickered,  and  vanished. 
92 


THE  MOON  WAS  NOT  ALONE  93 

Yet  as  they  looked  out  over  the  prairie  towards  Tralee, 
to  which  Louise  must  presently  return,  a  rebellious  sort 
of  joy  possessed  them. 

The  discord  of  their  thoughts  was  like  music  beside 
what  had  passed  at  Tralee.  There  nothing  relieved  the 
black,  sullen  rage  of  Joel  Mazarine.  He  had  returned  to 
the  house  where  his  voice  had  always  been  able  to  summon 
his  slaves,  and  to  know  that  they  would  come — China- 
man, half-breed,  wife.  Now  he  called,  and  the  wife  did 
not  come.  On  the  new  chestnut  she  had  ridden  away  on 
the  prairie,  so  the  half-breed  woman  had  said,  as  hard  as 
he  could  go.  He  had  scanned  the  prairie  till  night  came, 
without  seeing  a  sign  of  her. 

His  black  imagination  instantly  conceived  the  worst 
that  Louise  might  do.  It  was  not  in  him  ever  to  have  the 
decent  alternative.  He  questioned  the  half-breed  woman 
closely ;  he  savagely  interrogated  the  Chinaman ;  and 
then  he  declared  that  they  lied  to  him,  that  they  knew 
more  than  they  said ;  and  when  he  was  unable  to  bear  it 
any  longer  he  mounted  his  horse  and  galloped  over  to 
Slow  Down  Ranch.  As  he  went,  he  kept  swearing  to 
himself  that  Louise  had  flown  thither;  and,  like  some  fell 
disease,  anger  made  his  brain  malignant.  He  could  scarcely 
frame  his  words  intelligibly  when  he  arrived  at  Slow 
Down  Ranch. 

There  he  was  presently  convinced  that  his  worst  sus- 
picions were  true,  for  Orlando  also  had  not  returned. 
He  saw  it  all.  They  had  agreed  to  meet ;  they  had  met ; 
they  had  eloped  and  were  gone!  His  long  upper  lip 
was  like  some  ravening  thing  of  the  sea;  his  beady  eyes 
were  those  of  serpents  watching  for  the  instant  to  strike, 
(and  his  words  burst  over  the  head  of  Orlando's  mother 
like  shrapnel. 


94  .WILD  YOUTH 

For  once,  however,  the  futile,  fantastic  mother  rose 
higher  than  herself,  and  declared  that  her  son  had  never 
run  away  from,  or  with,  anything  in  his  life;  that  he — 
Joel  Mazarine — had  never  had  anything  worth  her  son's 
running  away  with ;  and  that  her  son,  when  he  came  back, 
would  make  him  ask  forgiveness  as  he  had  never  asked  it 
of  his  God. 

Indeed,  the  gaudy  little  lady  stood  in  her  doorway  and 
chattered  her  maledictions  after  him,  as  he  rode  back 
again  towards  Tralee  muttering  curses  which  no  class 
leader  in  the  Methodist  Church  ought  even  to  quote  for 
pious  purposes. 

Joel  Mazarine  had  flattered  himself  that  he  had  every- 
thing life  could  give — money,  property  and  a  garden  of 
youth  in  which  his  old  age  could  loiter  and  be  glad ;  and 
that  he  should  be  defied  suddenly  and  his  garden  made 
desolate,  that  the  lines  of  his  good  fortune  should  be 
crossed,  caused  him  to  rage  like  any  heathen.  His  mon- 
strous egotism  made  him  like  some  infuriated  bull  in  the 
arena,  with  the  banderillos  sticking  in  his  hot  hide. 

The  two  people  whom  he  cursed  were  in  Elysium  com- 
pared to  the  place  where  he  tortured  himself.  There  are 
desert  birds  that  silently  surround  a  rattlesnake,  as  he 
sleeps,  with  little  bundles  of  cactus-heads  and  their  million 
needles,  so  that,  when  the  reptile  wakes,  it  cannot  escape 
through  the  pallisade  of  bristling  weapons  by  which  it  is 
surrounded;  and  in  ghoulish  anger  it  strikes  its  fangs 
into  its  own  body  until  it  dies.  Just  such  a  helpless  rage 
held  Joel  Mazarine,  and  his  religion  did  not  suggest  seek- 
ing comfort  at  that  Throne  of  Grace  to  which  he  had  so 
publicly  prayed  on  occasions. 

Night  held  him  prowling  in  his  own  coverts ;  morning 
found  him  yellow  and  mottled,  malicious,  but  now  silent. 


THE  MOON  WAS  NOT  ALONE  97 

Then  he  added  with  sharp  insistence  and  menace :  "  Stand 
back — damn  you,  Mazarine !  " 

Orlando  did  not  move  as  he  spoke,  but  there  was  a  look 
in  his  face  which  an  enemy  would  not  care  to  see. 

Mazarine,  in  spite  of  his  rage,  quailed  before  the  sharp, 
menacing  voice  so  little  in  tune  with  its  reputation  for 
giggling,  and  stepping  back  he  let  Louise  pass.  Then  'he 
plunged  forward  out  of  the  doorway. 

"That's  right.  Come  outside,"  said  Orlando  scorn- 
fully. "  Come  out  into  the  open."  His  voice  became 
lower.  There  was  something  deadly  in  it,  boy  as  he  was. 
"  Come  out,  you  hypocrite,  and  listen  to  what  I've  got  to 
say.  Listen  to  the  truth  I've  got  to  tell  you.  If  you  don't 
listen,  I'll  horsewhip  you,  that'd  horsewhip  a  woman,  till 
you  can't  stand — you  loathsome  old  dog.  .  .  .  Yes,  he 
took  his  horsewhip  to  her  yesterday,"  he  added  to  the 
spectators,  who  muttered  angrily,  for  the  West  is  chival- 
rous towards  women. 

Something  near  to  madness  possessed  Orlando.  No  one 
had  ever  seen  him  as  he  was  at  that  moment.  Down 
through  generations  had  come  to  him  some  iron  thing  that 
suddenly  revealed  itself  in  him,  as  something  had  just 
suddenly  revealed  itself  in  Louise. 

The  other  three  men — two  in  the  wagon  and  one  beside 
his  horse — stared  at  him  as  though  they  now  saw  him  for 
the  first  time.  They  were  unready  for  the  passion  that 
possessed  him.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  body  appeared  to 
move ;  he  was  as  motionless  as  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  But 
in  his  eyes  and  his  voice  there  was,  as  one  of  the  ranchers 
said  afterwards,  "hell — and  then  some  more." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said  again,  and  his  voice  was  low 
and  husky  now.  "  Yesterday  I  was  broncho-busting " 

Thereupon  he  told  the  whole  story  of  what  had  hap- 
7 


98  WILD  YOUTH 

pened  since  he  had  seen  Louise  thrown  from  her  chestnut 
on  the  prairie.  He  told  how  Louise  was  too  shaken  and 
ill  to  attempt  the  journey  back  to  Tralee,  and  how  they  had 
camped  where  they  were,  near  the  dead  horse. 

As  Orlando  talked,  the  old  man  was  seized  by  terrible 
hatred  and  jealousy.  "You  needn't  tell  me  the  rest," 
he  broke  in,  his  hands  savagely  opening  and  shutting. 
"  I  guess  I  understand  everything." 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  mouth  when  from  the 
wagon  a  man  said : "  Wait — wait,  Mister.  I  got  something 
to  say." 

He  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  ran  between  Mazarine 
and  Orlando. 

"  This  is  where  I  come  in,"  he  said,  as  Louise's  face 
appeared  at  an  upper  window,  and  she  listened.  "  You 
don't  know  me.  .Well,  I  know  you.  Everybody  knows 
you,  and  nobody  likes  you.  I  know  what  happened  last 
night.  I'm  a 'brother  of  your  fellow  Christian  Rigby,  the 
druggist,  over  there  in  Askatoon.  He's  a  Methodist.  I'm 
not.  I'm  only  good.  I  been  a  lot  o'  things,  and  nothing 
in  the  end.  Well,  you  hearken  to  my  tale. 

"  I  was  tramping  with  my  swag  on  my  back  acrost  the 
prairie  to  Askatoon  from  Waterway.  I'm  a  sundowner. 
When  the  sun  goes  down,  I  down  to-«3y  bed  wherever  I 
be  on  the  prairie.  I  was  asleep — I'd  been  half  drunk — 
when  the  chestnut  threw  your  wife  and  broke  its  leg ;  but 
I  was  awake  when  he  rode  up."  He  pointed  to  Orlando. 
"  I  was  awake,  and  so  I  watched.  I  knew  who  she  was ; 
I  knew  who  he  was."  He  pointed  to  Orlando  again.  "  I 
guessed  I'd  see  something.  I  did. 

"  I  watched  them  two  people  all  night  There  was  a 
moon.  I  could  see.  I  wasn't  fifteen  feet  from  her  all 
night,  and  I  jined  the  others  when  they  come  to  rescue. 


THE  MOON  WAS  NOT  ALONE  99 

I  guess  I  got  the  truth,  and  I  guess  if  you  want  any 
evidence  about  me  you  can  get  it.  Lots  of  people  know 
me  out  here.  I  ain't  got  any  house  or  any  home,  and  I 
get  drunk  sometimes,  and  I  ain't  got  money  to  buy  meals 
with,  lots  of  times,  but  nobody  ever  knowed  me  lie.  That's 
what  ruined  me — I  been  too  truthful.  Well,  I'm  not 
lying  now,  Mister.  I'm  telling  you  the  God-help-me  truth. 
He's  a  gentleman."  He  pointed  again  to  Orlando.  "  He's 
a  gentleman  from  away  back  in  God's  country,  wherever 
that  is,  and  she's  the  best  of  the  best  of  the  very  best. 

"You  can  bet  your  greasy  old  boots  and  ugly  face 
that  you've  got  a  bigger  fortune  in  that  wife  of  yours  than 
you've  any  right  to.  Say,  she's  a  queen,  Mister,  and  don't 
you  forget  it,  and  " — he  drawled  out  his  words — "  you 
go  inside  your  house  and  get  down  on  your  knees,  same 
as  you  do  in  the  Meeting  House,  and  thank  the  Lord  you 
love  so  well  for  all  his  blessings.  As  my  friend  here  said 
a  little  while  back" — he  pointed  to  Orlando  again — 
"  *  Damn  you,  Mazarine ! '  Go  and  hide  yourself." 

The  old  man  stood  for  a  moment  dumbfounded ;  then, 
without  a  word,  he  turned  and  hunched  inside  the  house. 

"  He  raised  his  horsewhip  ag'in'  a  woman,  did  he  ?  " 
said  one  of  Orlando's  ranchmen.  "Ain't  that  a  matter 
we  got  to  take  notice  of  ?  " 

"  Boys/'  said  Orlando  as  he  motioned  them  to  be  off, 
"  Mrs.  Mazarine  can  take  care  of  herself.  You'll  forget 
what's  happened,  if  you  want  to  play  up  to  her.  If  she 
needs  you,  she'll  be  sure  to  let  you  know." 

A  moment  afterwards  they  were  all  on  their  way  on  the 
road  leading  to  Slow  Down  Ranch. 

"  He  didn'it  giggle  much  that  time,"  said  one  of  the 
ranchmen  of  Orlando,  as  they  moved  on. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LOUISE 

THE  Young  Doctor  had  had  a  trying  day.  Certain 
of  his  cases  had  given  him  anxiety ;  his  drives  had  been 
long  and  fatiguing;  he  had  had  little  sleep  for  several 
nights;  and  he  was  what  Patsy  Kernaghan  had  called 
"  brittle  " ;  for  when  Patsy  was  in  a  vexed  condition,  he 
used  to  say,  "  I'm  so  brittle  I'll  break  if  you  look  at  me." 
As  the  Young  Doctor  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  supper- 
table  and  looked  at  his  food  with  a  critical  air,  he  was 
very  brittle. 

For  one  born  in  Inniskillen  he  had  an  even  nature, 
but  its  evenness  was  more  the  result  of  mental  control  than 
temperament.  He  sighed  as  he  looked  at  the  marrow 
bones  which,  as  a  rule,  gave  him  joy  when  their  turn 
came  in  the  weekly  menu;  he  eyed  askance  the  baked 
potatoes;  and  the  salad  waiting  for  his  skilled  hand  only 
gave  him  an  extra  feeling  of  fatigue. 

Most  men  in  a  like  state  say,  "  I  don't  know  what's  the 
matter  with  me,"  and  yet  many  a  one  has  been  stimulated 
out  of  it,  away  from  it,  by  the  soft  voice  and  friendly  hand 
of  a  woman. 

There  was,  however,  no  woman  to  distract  the  over- 
worked Young  Doctor  by  her  freshness,  drawn  from  the 
reservoir  of  her  vitality;  and  that  was  a  pity,  because, 
as  Patsy  Kernaghan  many  a  time  said :  "  Aw,  Doctor  dear, 
what's  the  good  of  a  tongue  to  a  wagon  if  there's  only 
wan  horse  *to  draw  it !  Shure,  you'll  think  a  lot  more  of 
yourself  whin  you're  able  to  stand  at  the  head  of  your 
own  table  and  say  grace  for  two  at  least,  and  thanks- 
giving for  manny,  if  it's  the  will  of  God." 
100 


LOUISE  101 

The  Young  Doctor  did  not  know  why  he  was  so  brittle, 
but  the  truth  is  he  was  feeding  on  himself,  and  that  is  a 
poor  business.  Every  dog  knows  it  is  good  to  feed  on  the 
knuckle  of  a  goat  if  he  hasn't  got  a  beef-bone,  and  every 
real  man  knows — though  to  know  anything  at  all  he  must 
have  been  married — that  any  marriage  is  better  than  no 
marriage  at  all ;  because,  whether  it's  happy  or  unhappy, 
it  makes  you  concerned  for  someone  besides  yourself,  if 
you  have  any  soul  or  sense  at  all. 

The  Young  Doctor  was  under  the  delusion  that  he 
loved  his  lonely  table  and  the  making  of  a  simple  salad  for 
a  simple  man,  but  then  he  came  from  Ireland  and  had 
imagination;  and  that  is  always  a  curse  when  it  isn't  a 
blessing,  for  there  is  nothing  between  the  two.  At  the 
end  of  his  troubled  day  he  almost  cursed  the  salad  as  it 
crinkled  in  the  dish  just  slightly  rubbed  with  garlic.  He 
was  turning  away  in  apathy  from  it — from  the  bones  with 
the  marrow  oozing  out  of  the  ends,  from  the  bursting 
baked  potatoes,  from  the  beautiful  crusts  of  brown  bread, 
when  he  heard  the  door-bell  ring.  At  the  sound  his  face 
set  as  though  it  were  mortar.  He  wanted  no  patients 
this  night ;  but  from  the  peremptory  sound  of  the  bell  he 
was  sure  someone  had  come  who  needed  medicine  or  the 
knife,  and  he  could  refuse  neither;  for  was  he  not  at 
everybody's  beck  and  call,  the  Medicine  Man  whose  door 
was  everybody's  door? 

"  Damnation ! "  he  said  aloud,  and  turned  towards  the 
door  expectantly. 

Then  he  bitted  himself  to  wait;  and  he  did  not  wait 
long.  Presently  he  heard  a  voice  say,  "  I  must  see  him," 
and  the  door  opened  wide,  and  Louise  Mazarine  stepped 
into  the  room.  Her  face  was  pale  and  distraught;  her 
blue  eyes,  with  their  long,  melancholy  lashes,  stared  at 


102  WILD  YOUTH 

him  in  appealing  apprehension.  Her  lips  were  almost 
white ;  her  hands  trembled  out  towards  him. 

"  I've  come — I've  come !  "  she  said.  It  had  the  finality 
of  the  last  chapter  of  a  book. 

The  Young  Doctor  closed  the  door,  ignoring  for  the 
instant  the  hands  held  out  to  him.  After  all,  he  was  a 
very  sane  Young  Doctor,  and  he  had  the  faculty  of  keeping 
his  head,  and  his  heart,  and  his  own  counsel.  Also  he 
knew  there  was  an  inquisitive  old  servant  in  the  hallway. 

When  the  door  was  closed,  he  turned  round  on  Louise 
slowly,  and  then  he  held  out  his  hands  to  her,  for  she  was 
shrinking  away,  as  though  he  had  repulsed  her.  He 
pressed  her  trembling  hands  in  the  way  that  only  faithful 
friendship  shows,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  I  know  you've  come,  but  tell  me  what  you've 
come  for." 

"I  couldn't  bear  it  any  longer,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"  I'm  not  made  of  steel  or  stone.  It's  been  terrible.  He 
doesn't  speak  to  me  except  to  order  me  to  do  this  or  that 
I  haven't  done  anything  wrong,  and  I  won't  be  treated 
so.  I  won't !  When  he  made  me  kneel  down  by  him  in 
the  trail  and  tried  to  make  me  pray  to  be  forgiven  for  my 
sins,  I  couldn't  stand  it  I  don't  know  what  my  sins  are, 
and  I  won't  be  converted  if  I  don't  want  to.  I'm  not  a 
slave.  I'm  of  age.  I'm  twenty." 

There  was  no  sign  of  fatigue  now  in  the  Young  Doc- 
tor's face.  Something  had  called  him  out  of  himself,  and 
this  human  need  had  done  what  a  wife's  hand  might  have 
done,  or  the  welcome  of  a  child. 

"  No,  you're  not  twenty,"  he  declared,  with  a  friendly 
smile.  "  You  aren't  ten.  You  are  only  one.  In  fact,  I 
think  you're  only  just  born !  " 

He  did  not  speak  as  lightly  as  the  words  read.  In  his 
voice  there  was  that  compassionate  irony  with  which  men 


LOUISE  103 

shield  those  for  whom  they  care.  It  means  protection 
and  defence.  Somehow  she  seemed  to  him  like  a  small 
bird  on  its  first  flight  from  the  nest,  or,  as  Patsy  Kernaghan 
would  have  said,  "A  tame  lamb  loose  in  a  zoolyogical 
gardin." 

"  So,  because  you  won't  pray  and  can't  bear  it  any 
longer,  you  run  away  from  him,  and  come  to  me ! "  the 
other  remarked  with  a  sorry  smile,  pouring  out  a  glass  of 
wine  from  a  decanter  that  stood  on  the  table. 

"Drink  this,"  he  said  presently,  pushing  her  down, 
gently  into  a  chair  with  one  hand  and  holding  the  glass  to 
her  lips,  "  Drink  it  every  drop.  As  I  said,  you've  only 
run  away  from  one  master  to  fall  into  another  master's1 
hands.  You're  a  wicked  girl.  Drink  it — every  drop.  .  .  . 
That's  right." 

He  took  the  empty  glass  from  her,  put  it  on  the  table, 
and  then  stood  and  looked  at  her  meditatively,  fastening 
her  eyes  with  his  own.  More  than  her  eyeswere  fastened, 
however.  Her  mind  was  also  under  control ;  but  that  was 
because  she  believed  in  him  so. 

"  Yes,  you're  a  wicked  girl,"  he  said  decisively. 

She  shuddered  and  shrank  back.  In  her  eyes  was  a 
helpless  look,  very  different  from  that  which  she  had  given 
not  so  many  days  before  when,  with  Orlando  Guise  behind 
her,  she  had  defied  her  aged  husband  in  his  doorway,  and 
her  defiance  had  moved  him  from  her  path.  Then  she  had 
been  inspired  by  the  fact  that  the  man  she  loved  was  near 
her,  that  she  had  been  wrongfully  accused  and  was  ready 
to  fight  Afterwards,  however,  when  she  was  alone,  the 
sterile  presence  of  Joel  Mazarine,  his  merciless  eyes,  his 
hopeless  religious  tyranny,  had  worn  upon  her  as  his  past 
violence  had  never  done. 

"Wicked!"  Did  this  man,  then,  believe  her  guilty? 
Did  he,  of  all  men,  think  that  the  night  upon  the  prairie 


WILD  YOUTH 

alone  with  Orlando  had  been  her  undoing  ?  Had  not  the 
'brother  of  Rigfoy  the  chemist  borne  witness  with  his  own 
eyes  to  her  complete  innocence?  If  the  Young  Doctor 
disbelieved,  then  indeed  she  was  undone. 

"  You  don't  think  that  of  me — of  me !  "  she  gasped,  her 
lips  all  white  again.  She  got  to  her  feet  excitedly.  "  You 
shall  not  believe  it  of  me." 

"  No,  I  did  not  say  I  believed  that"  the  other  remarked 
almost  casually.  "  But  if  I  did  believe  it,  I  don't  know 
that  it  would  make  much  difference  to  me.  Fate,  or  God 
Almighty,  or  whatever  it  was,  had  stacked  the  cards 
against  you.  When  I  said  k  was  wicked,  I  meant  you  did 
wrong  in  rushing  away  from  your  husband  and  coming  to 
me.  I  suppose  you  have  definitely  left  your  husband — 
eh  ?  You've  '  lef  t '  him,  as  they  say  ?  " 

He  had  an  incorrigible  sense  of  humor,  as  well  as  an 
infinite  common  sense.  He  wanted  to  break  this  spell  of 
tense  emotion  which  possessed  her.  So  he  pursued  a  new 
course. 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  rather  hard  on  me  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued. "  I'm  a  lone  man  in  this  house,  with  only  one 
old  woman  to  protect  me,  and  I'm  unmarried.  I've  a 
reputation  to  lose,  and  there  are  lots  of  mothers  and 
daughters  hereabouts.  Besides,  a  medical  practice  is  hard 
to  get  and  not  easy  to  keep.  What  do  you  mean  by 
making  a  refuge  of  me,  when  there's  nothing  for  me  in  it, 
not  even  the  satisfaction  of  going  into  the  divorce  court 
with  you  ?  You  wicked  Mrs.  Mazarine !  " 

"Oh,  don't  speak  like  that!"  Louise  interjected. 
"  Please  don't.  Don't  scold  me.  I  had  to  come.  I  was 
going  mad." 

The  Young  Doctor  had  the  case  well  in  hand.  He  had 
eased  the  terrible  tension ;  he  was  slowly  reducing  her  to 
the  normal.  It  was  the  only  thing  to  do. 


LOUISE  105 

"  What  did  Mazarine  do  or  say  to  you  that  made  you 
run  away?  Come  now,  didn't  you  first  make  up  your 
mind  to  go  to  Slow  Down  Ranch — to  Orlando?  " 

She  flushed.  "  Yes,  but  only  for  a  minute.  Then  I 
thought  of  you,  because  I  knew  you  could  help  me  as  no 
one  else  could.  Everybody  believes  in  you.  But  then 
Li  Choo " 

"  Oh,  Li  Choo!  So  Li  Choo  comes  into  this,  eh?  So 
he  said  fly  to  Orlando,  eh?  Well,  that's  what  he  would 
do.  But  why  Li  Choo — a  Chinaman?  Tell  me,  what 
does  Li  Choo  know  ?  " 

Quickly  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  day  when  Joel 
Mazarine  had  almost  surprised  her  in  Orlando's  room; 
how  Li  Choo  had  saved  the  situation  by  falling  down  the 
staircase  with  the  priceless  porcelain,  and  how  Mazarine 
had  kicked  him— "  'manhandled "  him,  as  they  say  in 
the  West. 

"  Chinamen  don't  like  being  kicked,  especially  China- 
men of  Li  Choo's  station,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor 
meditatively.  "  You  don't  know,  of  course,  that  Li  Choo 
was  a  prince  or  a  bigbug  of  some  sort  in  his  own  country. 
Why  he  left  China  I  don't  know,  but  I  do  chance  to  know 
that  if  another  Chinky  meets  Li  Choo  carrying  a  basket 
on  his  shoulders,  or  a  package  in  his  hand,  he  kow-tows, 
and  takes  it  away  from  him,  and  carries  it  himself.  .  .  . 
No,  I  don't  know  why  Li  Choo  is  here  in  Askatoon,  or  why 
he's  such  a  slave  to  Mrs.  Mazarine ;  but  I  do  know  that  he's 
a  different-looking  man  when  a  Chinky  runs  up  against 
him  than  when  he's  choring  at  Tralee.  A  sick  Chinaman 
told  me  only  a  week  ago  that  Li  Choo  was  '  once  big  high 
boss  Chinaman  in  Pekin/  .  .  .  And  so  the  mandarin  ad- 
vised you  to  fly  to  Orlando,  did  he?  I  wonder  if  it's  a 
way  they  have  in  China." 


106  WILD  YOUTH 

"  But  I  wouldn't  go.  I've  come  to  you — Patsy  Ker- 
naghan  brought  me,"  Louise  urged. 

"  Yes,  I  see  you've  come  to  me,"  remarked  the  Young 
Doctor  dryly,  "  and  you've  stayed  about  long  enough  for 
me  to  feel  your  pulse  and  diagnose  your  case.  And  now 
you're  going  back  with  Patsy  Kernaghan  to  your  own 
home." 

She  trembled ;  then  she  seemed  to  strengthen  herself 
in  defiance.  What  a  change  it  was  from  the  child  of  a 
few  weeks  ago — indeed,  of  a  few  moments  ago !  The  same 
passionate  determination  which  seized'her  when  she  faced 
Mazarine  with  Orlando,  possessed  her  again.  With  her 
whole  being  palpitating,  she  said :  "  I  will  not  go  back. 
I  will  not  go  back.  I  will  kill  myself  first." 

"That  would  be  a  useless  sacrifice  of  yourself  and 
others,"  the  Young  Doctor  answered  quietly.  Seeing  that 
the  new  thing  in  her  was  not  to  be  conquered  in  a 
moment,  he  quickly  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do. 

"  See,"  he  continued,  "  you  needn't  go  back  to  Tralee 
to-night,  but  you're  not  going  to  stay  here,  dear  child. 
I'll  take  you  over  to  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch,  to  Mrs.  Doyle. 
You'll  spend  the  night  there,  and  we'll  think  about  to- 
morrow when  to-morrow  comes.  You  certainly  can't  stay 
here.  I'm  not  going  to  have  it.  Bless  you,  you're  neither 
so  young  nor  so  old  as  all  that !  " 

Suddenly  he  grasped  both  her  arms  and  looked  her  in 
the  face.  "  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said  gently,  "  I'm 
not  your  only  friend,  but  I'm  a  stout  friend — so  stout  that 
there  isn't  a  mount  can  carry  us  both  together.  When 
you  ride,  I  walk ;  when  I  ride,  you  walk — you  understand  ? 
We  don't  walk  or  ride  together.  I'm  taking  care  of  you. 
Your  life  is  too  good  to  be  ruined  by  rashness.  You're 
in  a  '  state/  as  my  old  housekeeper  would  say,  but  you'll 
be  all  right  presently.  As  soon  as  I've  made  a  salad,  and 


LOUISE  107 

had  a  marrow-bone,  you  and  I  and  Patsy  Kernaghan  are 
going  to  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch.  .  .  .  My  dear,  you  must 
do  what  I  say,  and  if  you  do,  you'll  be  happy  yet.  I  don't 
see  how,  quite,  but  it  is  so ;  and  meanwhile,  you  mustn't 
make  any  mistakes.  You  must  play  the  game.  And  now 
come  and  have  some  supper." 

She  waved  her  hand  in  protest.  "  I  can't  eat,"  she 
said.  "Indeed,  I  can't." 

"  Well,  you  can  drink,"  he  answered.  "  You  shall  not 
leave  this  house  alive  unless  you  have  a  pint  of  milk  with 
a  little  dash  of  what  Patsy  calls  '  oh-be- joyful '  in  it." 

He  left  the  room  for  a  moment,  while  she  sat  watching 
the  door  as  a  prisoner  might  watch  for  the  return  of  a 
friendly  jailer.  He  had  a  curious  influence  over  her.  It 
was  wholly  different  from  that  of  Orlando.  Presently  he 
returned. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Patsy  and  you  and  I  will 
be  at  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch  in  another  hour.  I've  sent 
word  to  Mrs.  Doyle.  I've  ordered  your  milk-punch,  too, 
and  now  I  think  I'll  make  my  salad.  You  never  saw  me 
make  a  salad,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  I've  done  some  suc- 
cessful operations  in  my  day ;  I've  played  about  with  bones 
and  sinews,  proud  of  my  work  sometimes,  but  the  making 
of  a  perfect  salad  is  the  proud  achievement  of  a  master- 
mind." He  laughed  like  a  boy.  "'Come  hither,  come 
hither,  my  little  daughter,  and  do  not  tremble  so/  "  he  said 
so  cheerfully  as  to  be  almost  jeering. 

His  cheerfulness  was  not  in  vain,  for  a  smile  stole  to 
her  lips,  though  it  flickered  only  for  an  instant  and  was 
gone.  For  all  that,  he  knew  he  had  saved  the  situation, 
and  that  another  chapter  of  the  life-history  of  Orlando  and 
Louise  had  been  ended.  A  fresh  chapter  would  begin  to- 
morrow ;  but  sufficient  unto  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof. 


CHAPTER  XII 
MAN  UNNATURAL 

MAZARINE  discovered  the  flight  of  Louise  soon  after 
she  had  gone.  He  had  not  'been  five  hundred  yards  from 
the  house  since  she  returned  with  Orlando  after  the  night 
spent  upon  the  prairie,  save  when  he  had  been  obliged 
to  go  in  to  Askatoon  and  had  taken  her  with  him,  dumb 
and  passive.  She  had  been  a  prisoner,  tied  to  the  stirrups 
of  her  captor;  and  he  had  berated  her,  had  preached 
at  her.  As  Louise  had  said,  once  on  the  way  to  Askatoon, 
he  had  even  tried  to  make  her  kneel  down  in  the  dust 
of  the  trail  and  plead  with  Heaven  to  convict  her  of  sin. 

On  the  evening  of  Louise's  flight,  however,  he  had  been 
forced  to  go  to  a  neighboring  ranch,  and  had  commanded 
Li  Choo  to  keep  a  strict  watch  at  the  windows  of  her  room 
to  see  that  she  did  not  attempt  escape.  She  could  not 
escape  by  the  door  of  the  room  because  he  had  the  key  in 
his  pocket.  Li  Choo  was  not  a  stern  jailer,  however. 
Mazarine  had  not  been  gone  three  minutes  before  the 
Chinaman  had  touch  with  Louise.  He  did  more ;  he  threw 
up  into  the  open  window  of  her  room  a  screw-driver,  with 
which  she  took  the  old-fashioned  door  off  its  hinges,  after 
half  an  hour's  work.  Then,  leaving  a  note  on  the  table 
of  the  dining  room,  to  say  that  she  could  not  bear  it  any 
longer,  that  she  would  never  come  back,  and  that  she 
meant  to  be  free,  she  summoned  Patsy  Kernaghan  and 
fled  to  the  Young  Doctor. 

When  Mazarine  returned  and  found  her  note,  he 
plunged  up  the  stairs  to  her  bedroom,  his  pious  wrath 
gurgling  in  his  throat,  only  to  find  the  door  locked ;  for  Li 
108 


MAN  UNNATURAL  109 

Choo  had  promptly  restored  it  to  its  hinges  after  Louise 
had  gone,  afterwards  dropping  from  the  high  window 
like  a  cat,  without  hurt. 

Li  Choo,  blinking,  opaque,  immobile,  save  for  his 
piercing  and  mysterious  eyes,  had  no  explanation  to  give. 
All  he  said  was,  "  Me  no  see  all  sides  house  same  time  " ; 
so  suggesting  that,  as  the  room  had  windows  on  all  three 
sides,  Louise  must  have  escaped  while  he  made  his  sup- 
posed sentry-go,  slip-slopping  round  the  house.  Mazarine 
showed  what  he  thought  t>y  spitting  in  Li  Choo's  face,  and 
then  rushing  into  the  house  to  get  the  rawhide  whip  with 
which  he  had  punished  the  Chinaman  before,  and  with 
which  he  had  threatened  his  wife. 

When  he  returned  a  moment  afterwards,  Li  Choo  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen;  but  in  his  place  were  two  other 
Chinamen  who  had,  as  it  were,  fallen  from  the  skies, 
standing  where  Li  Choo  had  stood,  immobile,  blinking 
and  passive  like  Li  Choo,  their  hands  lost  in  the  long 
sleeves  of  their  coats,  their  pigtails  so  tightly  braided  as, 
in  seeming,  to  draw  their  slanting  eyelids  still  to  greater 
incline,  and  to  give  a  look  of  petrified  intentness  to  their 
faces. 

Something  in  their  attitude  gave  Mazarine  appre- 
hension. It  was  as  though  Li  Choo  had  been  transformed 
by  some  hellish  magic  into  two  other  Chinamen.  The 
rage  of  his  being  seemed  to  stupefy  him;  he  could  not 
resist  the  sensation  of  the  unnatural. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  How  did  you  come  here  ?  " 
he  asked  of  the  two  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  We  want  speak  Li  Choo.  We  come  see  Li  Choo," 
answered  one  of  the  Chinamen  impassively. 

"He  was  here  a  minute  ago,"  answered  Mazarine 
gruffly. 


I  io  WILD  YOUTH 

Then  he  turned  away,  going  swiftly  toward  the  kitchen, 
and  calling  to  Li  Choo.  As  he  went,  he  was  conscious 
of  low,  cackling  laughter,  but  when  he  turned  to  look  the 
two  Chinamen  stood  where  he  had  left  them,  blinking  and 
immoibile. 

The  uncanny  feeling  in  possession  of  him  increased ; 
the  thing  was  unnatural.  He  lurched  on,  however,  looking 
for  Li  Choo.  The  Chinaman  was  not  to  be  found  in  the 
kitchen,  in  the  woodshed,  in  the  cellar,  in  the  loft,  or  in 
his  own  attic  room;  and  the  half-breed,  Rada,  declared 
she  had  not  seen  him.  He  could  not  be  at  the  stables, 
for  they  were  too  far  away  to  be  reached  in  the  time ;  and 
there  were  no  signs  of  him  between  the  house  and  the 
stables.  When  Mazarine  returned  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  the  two  Chinamen  also  had  vanished ;  there  were 
no  signs  of  them  anywhere.  Search  did  not  discover 
them. 

Mingled  anger  and  fear  now  possessed  Mazarine. 
He  would  search  no  longer.  No  doubt  the  other  two 
Chinamen  had  joined  Li  Choo  in  his  hiding-place,  wher- 
ever it  was.  Why  had  the  Chinamen  come  ?  What  were 
they  after?  It  did  not  matter  for  the  moment.  What 
he  wanted  was  Louise,  his  bad  child-wife,  who  had  broken 
from  her  cage  and  flown  from  him.  [Where  would  she 
go?  Where,  but  to  Slow  Down  Ranch — where,  but  to 
her  lover,  the  circus-rider,  the  boy  with  the  head  of  brown 
curls,  with  the  ring  on  his  finger  and  the  Cupid  mouth ! 
Where  would  she  go  but  to  the  man  with  whom  she  had 
spent  the  night  on  the  prairie! 

Now  he  believed  altogether  that  she  was  guilty,  that 
everybody  had  conspired  to  deceive  him,  that  he  was  in 
a  net  of  dark  deception.  Even  the  two  Chinamen,  mys- 
teriously coming  and  going,  had  laughed  at  him  like  two 


MAN  UNNATURAL  m 

heathen  gods,  and  had  vanished  suddenly  like  heathen 
gods. 

A  weakness  came  over  him,  and  the  skin  of  his  face 
became  creased  and  clammy  like  that  of  a  drowned  man ; 
his  limbs  trembled,  so  desperate  was  his  passion.  He 
stumbled  into  the  house  and  into  the  dining  room,  where 
he  kept  a  little  black-bound  Bible  once  -belonging  to  his 
great-grandfather.  He  had  thumbed  it  well  in  past  years, 
searching  it  hard  for  passages  of  violence  and  denuncia- 
tion. Now  holy  superstition  seized  him  in  the  midst  of 
the  work  of  the  devil,  surrounding  him  with  an  almost 
medieval  instinct.  He  seized  the  ancient  book,  as  it 
were  to  deliver  its  incantations  against  everyone  destroy- 
ing his  peace,  stealing  from  him  that  which  he  prized 
beyond  all  earthly  things. 

Take  this  woman  away  from  him,  this  child-wife  from 
his  sixty-five  years,  and  what  was  left  for  him?  She 
was  the  garden  of  spring  in  which  his  old  age  roamed  at 
ease  luxuriously.  She  was  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  pleasure. 
She  was  that  which  made  him  young  again,  renewed  in 
him  youth  and  the  joys  of  youth.  Take  her  away,  the 
flower  that  smelled  so  sweet  and  luscious,  the  thing  that 
he  had  held  so  often  to  his  lips  and  to  his  breast  ?  Take 
away  what  was  his,  by  every  holy  right,  because  it  was 
all  according  to  the  law  of  the  land  and  of  the  Holy 
Gospel,  and  what  was  left?  Only  old  age,  the  empty 
house  bereft  of  a  fair  young  mistress — something  to  smile 
at  and  to  curse,  if  need  be,  since  it  was  his  own  by  the 
laws  of  God  and  man. 

Take  her  away,  and  the  two  wives  that  he  had  -buried 
long  years  ago,  with  their  gray  heads  and  lank,  sour  faces, 
from  which  the  light  of  youth  had  fled  with  the  first  child 
come  to  them — their  ghosts  would  seek  him  out.  They/ 


ii2  WILD  YOUTH 

would  sit  at  his  table,  and  taunt  him  with  his  vanished 
Louise,  asking  him  if  he  thought  she  was  anything  more 
than  one  of  the  trolls  that  tempted  men  aforetime — one 
of  the  devil's  wenches  that  lured  him  into  the  secret 
garden,  only  at  last  to  leave  him  scorned  and  alone. 

.Where  had  she  gone,  his  troll,  with  the  face  of  an 
angel?  Where  had  she  gone?  Where  would  she  go, 
except  to  her  devil's  lover  at  Slow  Down  Ranch ! 

He  had  just  started  for  Slow  Down  Ranch  armed  with 
•his  greasy,  well-thumbed  Bibki  like  a  weapon  in  his 
pocket,  when  he  heard  a  voice  call  him.  It  was  full  of  the 
devil's  laughter.  It  was  the  voice  of  Burlingame,  the 
lawyer,  on  his  horse.  Burlingame  had  had  a  weary  day 
and  was  refreshing  himself  by  a  canter  on  the  prairie. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Burlingame,  as  he 
cantered  up  to  Mazarine's  wagon.  "To  Slow  Down 
Ranch?" 

He  saw  the  look  of  the  drowned  man  in  the  face  of 
Mazarine,  over  whom  the  flood  of  disaster  had  passed,  and 
he  guessed  at  once  the  cause  of  it;  for  Burlingame  had 
the  philosophy  of  a  Satanic  mind,  and  he  knew  the  things 
that  happen  to  human  nature. 

"So,  she's  gone  again,  has  she?"  he  added  deliber- 
ately, with  intent  to  put  a  knife  into  the  old  man's  feelings 
and  to  turn  it  in  the  thick  of  them.  He  wanted  to  hurt, 
because  Mazarine  had  only  a  short  time  before  dispensed 
with  his  services  as  a  lawyer,  and  had  blocked  the  way 
to  that  intimacy  which  he  had  hoped  to  establish  with 
Tralee  and  its  mistress.  Besides,  his  pride  as  a  profes- 
sional man  had  been  hurt,  and  he  had  been  deprived  of 
income  which  now  went  to  his  most  hated  professional 
rival.  Mazarine's  jealous  soul  had  cut  him  off,  on  coming 


MAN  UNNATURAL  113 

to  know  Burlingame's  dark  reputation.    He  had  not  liked 
the  look  Burlingame  had  given  Louise  when  they  met. 

"  Gone  again,  has  she  ?  "  Burlingame  repeated  sar- 
castically. "  Well,  you  needn't  go  to  Slow  Down  Ranch 
to  find  her.  She  isn't  there,  and  you  won't  find  him  there 
either,  for  I  saw  him  come  by  the  Lark  River  Trail  into 
Askatoon  as  I  left,  and  a  lady  was  with  him.  He  booked 
this  morning  for  the  sleeper  of  the  express  going  East 
to-night ;  so,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  turn  my  horse's  nose  to 
Askatoon,  Mr.  Mazarine.  I  don't  know  why  I  tell  you 
this,  as  you're  not  my  client  now,  but  I  go  about  the  world 
doing  good,  Mr.  Mazarine — only  doing  good." 

There  was  a  look  in  Burlingame's  face  which  Heaven 
would  not  have  accepted  as  goodness,  and  there  was  that 
in  his  voice  which  did  not  belong  to  the  courts  of  the 
Lord.  Malice,  though  veiled,  showed  in  face  and  sounded 
in  voice.  Even  as  he  spoke,  Joel  Mazarine  turned  his 
horse's  head  toward  Askatoon. 

"  You're  sure  a  woman  was  with  him  ?  You're  sure 
she  was  with  him  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  chaos  of  passion. 

"  I  couldn't  see  her  face ;  it  was  too  far  away,"  an- 
swered Burlingame  suggestively,  "  -but  you  can  form  your 
own  conclusions — and  the  express  is  due  in  thirty 
minutes ! " 

He  looked  at  his  watch  complacently.  "  What's  the 
good,  Mazarine  ?  Why  don't  you  say,  '  Go  and  sin  no 
more  ?  '  Or  why  don't  you  divorce  her  with  the  evidence 
about  that  night  on  the  prairie  ?  I  could  have  got  you  a 
verdict  and  damages.  Yes,  I  could  have  got  you  plenty 
of  damages.  He's  rich.  You  took  her  back  and  con- 
doned; you  condoned,  Mazarine,  and  now  you'll  have 
neither  damages  nor  wife — and  the  express  goes  in  thirty 
minutes ! " 
8 


114  WILD  YOUTH 

"  The  express  won't  take  Mrs.  Mazarine  away  to- 
night," the  old  man  said,  a  look  of  jungle  fierceness  filling 
his  face. 

Burlingame  laughed  unpleasantly.  "  Yes,  you'll  foul 
your  own  nest,  Mazarine,  and  then  bring  her  back  to  live 
in  it.  I  know  you.  It  isn't  the  love  of  God  in  your  heart, 
because  you'll  never  forgive  her;  but  you'll  bring  her 
back  to  the  nest  you  fouled,  just  because  you  want  her — 
'you  damned  and  luxurious  mountain  goat,'  as  Shake- 
speare called  your  kind." 

With  another  laugh,  which  somewhat  resembled  that 
of  the  two  strange  vanished  Chinamen,  Burlingame  nicked 
his  horse  and  cantered  away.  A  little  time  afterwards, 
however,  he  turned  and  looked  toward  Askatoon,  and  he 
saw  the  old  man  whipping  his  horse  into  a  gallop  to  reach 
Askatoon  railway  station  before  the  express  went  East. 

"  It's  true,  Mazarine,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Orlando 
booked  for  the  sleeper  going  East  in  thirty  minutes ;  but 
the  sleeper  was  for  one  only,  and  that  one  was  his  mother, 
you  old  hippopotamus.  .  .  .  But  I  wonder  where  she  is 
— where  the  divine  Louise  is?  She  hasn't  levanted  with 
her  Orlando.  .  .  .  Now,  I  wonder !  "  he  added. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  he  dug  heels  into  his 
horse's  side,  and  galloped  back  towards  Askatoon.  He 
wanted  to  see  what  would  happen  before  the  express  went 
East 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ORLANDO  GIVES  A  WARNING 

ASKATOON  had  never  lost  its  interest  for  Mazarine 
and  his  wife  since  the  day  the  Mayor  had  welcomed  them 
at  the  railway  station.  Askatoon  was  not  a  petty  town. 
Its  career  had  been  checkered  and  interesting,  and  it  had 
given  haven  to  a  large  number  of  uncommon  .people.  Un- 
usual happenings  had  been  its  portion  ever  since  it  had 
been  the  rail-head  of  the  Great  Transcontinental  Line, 
and  many  enterprising  men,  instead  of  moving  on  with 
the  railway,  when  it  ceased  to  be  the  rail-head,  settled 
there  and  gave  the  place  its  character.  The  town  had 
never  been  lawless,  although  some  lawless  people  had 
sojourned  there. 

It  was  too  busy  a  place  to  be  fussing  about  little  things, 
or  tearing  people's  characters  to  pieces,  or  gossiping  even 
to  the  usual  degree ;  yet  in  its  history  it  had  never  gos- 
siped so  much  as  it  had  done  since  the  Mazarines  had 
come. 

From  the  first  the  vast  majority  of  folk  had  sided 
with  Louise  and  denounced  Mazarine.  They  knew  well 
she  had  married  too  young  to  be  self-seeking  or  intrigu- 
ing; and,  in  any  case,  no  woman  in  Askatoon  or  yet  in 
the  West,  could  have  conceived  of  a  girl  marrying  "  the 
ancient  one  from  the  jungle,"  as  Burlingame  had  called 
him. 

Burlingame  could  never  have  been  on  the  side  of  the 
Ten  Commandments  himself,  even  with  a  sure  and  certain 
hope  of  happiness  on  earth,  and  in  Heaven  also,  guaranteed 
to  him.  Nothing  could  have  condemned  Mazarine  so 

"5 


ii6  WILD  YOUTH 

utterly  as  the  coalition  (between  the  "  holy  good  people," 
as  Burlingame  called  them,  and  himself;  and  between 
the  holy  good  people  and  himself  were  many  who  in 
their  secret  hearts  would  never  have  shunned  Louise  if, 
after  the  night  on  the  prairie  with  Orlando,  release  had 
been  found  for  her  in  the  divorce  court.  Jonas  Billings 
had  put  the  matter  in  a  nutshell  when  he  said : 

"  It  ain't  natural,  them  two,  at  Tralee.  For  marrying 
her  he  ought  to  be  tarred  and  feathered,  and  for  the  way 
he  treats  her  he  ought  to  be  let  loose  in  the  ha'nts  of  the 
grizzlies.  What  he  done  to  that  girl  is  a  crime  ag'in'  the 
law.  If  there  was  any  real  spunk  in  the  Methodists, 
they'd  spit  him  out  like  pus." 

That  was  exactly  what  the  Methodist  body  had  decided 
to  do  on  the  very  day  that  Louise  had  fled  from  Tralee 
and  the  old  man  pursued  'her  in  the  wrong  direction.  The 
Methodist  body  had  determined  to  discipline  Mazarine,  to 
eject  him.  from  their  communion,  because  he  had  raised 
a  whip  against  his  wife;  because  he  had  maltreated  Li 
Choo;  and  because  he  had  used  language  unbecoming 
a  Christian.  They  had  decided  that  Mazarine  had  not 
shown  the  righteous  anger  of  a  Christian  man,  but  of 
One  who  had  blackslidden,  and  who,  in  the  words  of  Rigby 
the  chemist,  "  Must  be  spewed  out  of  the  mouth  of  the 
righteous  into  the  dust  of  shame." 

That  was  the  situation  when  Joel  Mazarine  drove 
furiously  into  the  town  and  made  for  the  railway  station. 
Men  like  Jonas  Billings,  who  saw  him,  and  had  the  scent 
for  sensation,  passed  the  word  on  downtown,  as  it  is 
called,  that  something  "  was  up  "  with  Mazarine,  and  the 
railway  station  was  the  place  where  what  was  up  could 
be  seen.  Therefore,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the 
arrival  of  the  express  which  was  to  carry  Orlando  Guise's 


ORLANDO  GIVES  A  WARNING  117 

mother  to  her  sick  sister  three  hundred  miles  down  the 
line,  a  goodly  number  of  citizens  had  gathered  at  the 
station — far  more  than  usually  watched  the  entrance  or 
exit  of  the  express. 

Mazarine's  wagon  and  steaming  horses  were  tied  up 
outside  the  station,  and  inside  on  the  platform  Moses-not- 
much,  as  Mazarine  had  been  called  by  Jonas  Billings, 
marched  up  and  down,  his  snaky  little  eyes  blinking  at 
the  doorway  of  the  station  waiting  room.  People  came 
and  some  of  them  nodded  to  him  derisively.  Some,  with 
more  hardihood,  asked  him  if  he  was  going  East — if  he 
was  expecting  anyone — if  he  was  seeing  somebody  off. 

A  good  many  asked  him  the  last  question,  because,  as 
the  minutes  had  passed,  Burlingame  had  arrived.  He  had 
also  disclosed  his  great  joke  to  those  who  would  carry  it 
far  and  near,  together  with  the  news  that  Louise  had 
taken  flight.  The  last  fact,  however,  was  known  to  several 
people,  because  more  than  one  had  seen  the  Young  Doctor 
and  Patsy  Kernaghan  taking  Louise  to  Nolan  Doyle's 
ranch. 

It  was  dusk.  The  lamps  of  the  station  were  being 
lighted  five  minutes  before  the  express  arrived,  and  as 
the  lights  flared  up  Orlando  entered  the  waiting  room  of 
the  station,  with  a  lady  on  his  arm,  and  presently  showed 
at  the  platform  doorway,  smiling  and  cheerful.  He  did 
not  blench  when  Mazarine  came  towards  him.  Mazarine 
had  seen  the  flutter  of  a 'blue  skirt  in  the  waiting  room,  and 
his  wife  had  worn  blue  that  day ! 

Orlando  saw  the  heavy,  offensive  figure  of  Mazarine 
making  for  him.  He,  however,  appeared  to  take  no  notice, 
though  he  watched  his  outrageous  pursuer  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye,  as  he  quietly  gave  orders  to  a  porter 
concerning  a  little  heap  of  luggage.  When  he  had  finished 


ii8  WILD  YOUTH 

this,  he  turned,  as  it  were  casually,  to  Mazarine.  Then 
he  giggled  in  the  face  of  the  Master  of  Tralee.  It  was 
like  the  matador's  waving  of  the  scarlet  cloth  in  the  face 
of  the  enraged  bull.  Having  thus  relieved  his  feelings, 
Orlando  turned  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the  reception- 
room,  but  was  stopped  by  the  old  man  rushing  at  him. 
Swinging  round,  Orlando  almost  filled  the  doorway. 

"  You  devil's  spawn,"  Mazarine  almost  shouted,  "  get 
out  of  that  doorway.  I  want  my  wife.  You  needn't  try 
to  hide  her.  You  thief!  You  lecherous  circus  rider! 
Stand  aside !  Stand  aside — leper ! " 

Orlando  coolly  stretched  out  his  elbows  till  they 
touched  the  sides  of  the  door,  and  as  the  crowd  pressed 
he  said  to  them  mockingly : 

"  Get  back,  boys.  Give  him  air.  Can't  you  see  he's 
gasping  for  breath."  Then  he  giggled  again. 

The  old  man  looked  round  at  the  crowd,  but  he  saw  no 
sympathy — only  aversion  and  ridicule.  Suddenly  he 
snatched  his  little  black-bound  Bible  from  his  pocket,  and 
held  it  up. 

"  What  does  this  Book  say  ?  "  he  thundered.  "  It  says 
that  a  wife  shall  cleave  unto  her  husband  until  death. 
For  the  seducer  and  the  betrayer  death  is  the  portion." 

The  whistle  of  the  incoming  train  was  heard  in  the 
distance. 

The  old  man  was  desperate.  It  was  clear  he  meant  to 
assault  Orlando.  "  You  will  only  take  her  away  over 
my  dead  body,"  he  ground  out  in  his  passion.  "  The  Lord 
gave,  and  only  the  Lord  shall  take  away."  He  gathered 
himself  together  for  the  attack. 

Orlando  waved  a  hand  at  him  as  one  would  at  a 
troublesome  child.  At  that  instant,  his  mother  stepped  up 
behind  him  in  the  waiting  room. 


ORLANDO  GIVES  A  WARNING  119 

"  Orlando,"  she  said  in  her  mincing,  piping  little  voice, 
"  Orlando,  dear,  the  train  is  coming.  Let  me  out.  I'm 
not  afraid  of  that  bad  man.  I  want  to  catch  my  train." 

Orlando  stepped  aside,  and  his  mother  passed  through, 
to  the  consternation  of  Mazarine,  who  fell  back.  The  old 
man  now  realized  that  Burlingame  had  tricked  him. 
Laughter  went  up  from  the  crowd.  .They  had  had  a  great 
show  at  no  cost. 

"'If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  try,  try  again/  Mr. 
Mazarine !  "  called  someone  from  the  crowd. 

"  It's  the  next  train  she's  going  by,  old  Moses-not- 
tnuch,"  shouted  a  friend  of  Jonas  Billings. 

"  She's  had  enough  of  you,  Joel ! "  sneered  another 
mocker. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  know  where  she  is,  yellow- 
lugs  ?  "  queried  a  fat  washerwoman. 

For  an  instant  Mazarine  stood  bemused,  and  then, 
thrusting  the  Bible  into  his  pocket,  he  drew  himself  up 
in  an  effort  of  pride  and  defiance. 

"  Judases !  Jezebels ! "  he  burst  out  at  them  all. 

Then  he  lunged  through  the  doorway  of  the  waiting 
room ;  but  at  the  door  opening  on  the  street  his  courage; 
gave  way,  and  hunched  up  like  one  in  pain,  he  ran  towards 
the  hitching-post  where  he  had  left  his  horses  and  wagon. 
They  were  not  there.  With  a  groan  which  was  also  a 
malediction,  he  went  up  the  street  like  a  wounded  elephant, 
and  made  his  way  to  the  police-station  through  a  town 
which  had  no  pity  for  him. 

During  the  hour  he  remained  in  the  town,  Mazarine 
searched  in  vain  for  his  horses  and  wagon.  He  looked 
everywhere  except  in  the  shed  behind  the  Methodist 
Church.  It  was  there  the  two  wags  who  had  played  the 
trick  on  him  had  carefully  hitched  the  horses,  and  pres- 


120  WILD  YOUTH 

ently  they  announced  in  town  that  they  did  it  because  they 
knew  Mazarine  would  want  to  go  to  the  prayer-meeting 
to  lay  his  crimes  before  the  Mercy  Seat ! 

It  was  quite  true  that  it  was  prayer-meeting  night,  and 
as  the  merciless  wags  left  the  shed,  the  voice  of  Brother 
Rigby  the  chemist  was  narrating  for  the  hundredth  time 
the  story  of  his  conversion,  when,  as  he  said,  "  the  pains  of 
hell  gat  hold  of  him."  Brother  Rigby  loved  to  relate  the 
tortures  of  the  day  when  he  was  convicted  of  sin;  but 
on  this  night  his  ancient  story  seemed  appropriate,  as  he 
had  dwelt  with  great  severity  on  the  doings  of  the  back- 
slider, Joel  Mazarine. 

When  the  two  wags  returned  to  the  front  street  of 
Askatoon,  they  were  just  in  time  to  see  the  second  meeting 
of  Orlando  and  Mazarine.  Mazarine  had  not  been  able  to 
find  his  horses  at  any  hotel  or  livery-stable,  or  in  any 
street.  It  was  at  the  moment  when,  in  his  distraction, 
he  had  decided  to  walk  back  to  Tralee,  that  Orlando, 
driving  up  the  street,  saw  him.  Orlando  reined  in  his 
horses,  dropped  from  his  buggy  and  approached  him. 

There  was  a  look  in  Orlando's  eyes  which  was  a  reflec- 
tion from  a  remote  past,  from  ancestors  who  had  settled 
their  troubles  with  the  first  weapon  and  the  best  oppor- 
tunity to  their  hands.  "  The  furrin  element  in  him,"  as 
Jonas  Billings  called  it,  had  been  at  full  flood  ever  since  he 
had  bade  his  mother  good-bye.  A  storm  of  anger  had 
been  raised  in  him.  As  he  said  to  himself,  he  had  had 
enough ;  he  had  been  filled  up  to  the  chin  by  the  Mazarine 
business;  and  his  impulsive  youth  wanted  to  end  it  by 
some  smashing  act  which  would  be  sensational  and  de- 
cisive. So  it  was  that  Fate  offered  the  opportunity,  as 
he  came  up  the  front  street  of  Askatoon,  and  found  him- 


ORLANDO  GIVES  A  WARNING  121 

self  face  to  face  with  Mazarine,  over  against  the  offices 
of  Burlingame. 

"  A  word  with  you,  Mr.  Mazarine,"  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  wants  to  ease  his  mind  of  its  trouble  by 
action.  "  Back  there  at  the  station,  I  kept  my  tongue  and 
let  you  down  easy  enough,  because  my  mother  was  present. 
She  is  old  and  sensitive,  and  she  doesn't  like  to  see  her  son 
doing  the  dirty  work  every  man  must  do  some  time  or 
other,  when  there's  street-cleaning  to  be  done.  Now,  let 
me  tell  you  this :  you've  slandered  as  good  a  girl,  you've 
libelled  as  straight  a  wife,  as  the  best  man  in  the  world 
ever  had.  You've  made  a  public  scandal  of  your  private 
home.  You've  treated  the  pure  thing  as  if  it  were  the  foul 
thing ;  and  yet,  you  want  to  keep  the  pure  thing  that  you 
treat  like  a  foul  thing,  under  your  rawhide  whip,  because 
it's  young  and  'beautiful  and  good.  You  don't  want  to 
save  her  soul " — he  pointed  to  the  Bible,  which  the  old 
man  had  snatched  from  his  .pocket  again — "you  don't 
want  to  save  her  soul.  You  don't  care  whether  she's 
happy  in  this  world  or  the  next ;  what  you  want  is  what 
you  can  see  of  her,  for  your  life  in  this  world  only.  You 
want " 

The  old  man  interrupted  him  with  a  savage  emotion 
which  Jonas  Billings  said  made  him  look  like  "  a  satyre." 

"  I  want  to  save  her  from  the  wrath  to  come,"  he  said. 
"  This  here  holy  Book  gives  me  my  rights.  It  says, '  Thou 
shalt  not  steal/  and  the  trouble  I  have  comes  from  you 
that's  stole  my  wife,  that's  put  her  soul  in  jeopardy,  robbed 
my  home " 

"  Robbed  your  home !  "  interjected  Orlando  quietly, 
Ibut  with  a  voice  of  suppressed  passion.  "  Robbed  your 
home !  Why,  the  other  day  you  tried  to  prevent  her  enter- 
ing it.  You  wanted  to  shut  her  out.  After  she  had  lived 


122  WILD  YOUTH 

with  you  all  those  years,  you  believed  she  lied  to  you  when 
she  told  you  the  truth  about  that  night  on  the  prairie ; 
but  her  innocence  was  proved  by  one  who  was  there  all 
the  time,  and  for  shame's  sake  you  had  to  let  her  in.  But 
she  couldn't  stand  it.  I  don't  wonder.  A  lark  wouldn't 
be  at  home  where  a  vulture  roosted." 

"  And  so  the  lark  flies  away  to  the  cuckoo,"  snarled  the 
old  man,  with  flecks  of  froth  gathering  at  the  corners  of 
his  mouth;  for  the  sight  of  this  handsome,  long-limbed 
youth  enraged  him. 

"  Give  her  back  to  me.  You  know  where  she  is,"  he 
persisted.  "  You've  got  her  hid  away.  That's  why  you've 
sent  your  mother  East — so's  she  wouldn't  know,  though 
from  what  I  see  I  shouldn't  think  it'd  have  made  much 
difference  to  her." 

Exclamations  broke  from  the  crowd.  It  was  the  wild 
West.  It  was  a  country  where,  not  twenty  years  before, 
men  did  justice  upon  men  without  the  assistance  of  the 
law;  and  the  West  understood  that  the  dark  insult  just 
uttered  would  in  .days  not  far  gone  have  meant  death. 
The  onlookers  exclaimed,  and  then  became  silent,  because 
a  subtle  sense  of  tragedy  suddenly  smothered  their  voices. 
Upon  the  silence  there  broke  a  little  giggling  laugh.  It 
came  from  lips  that  were  one  in  paleness  with  a  face 
grown  stony. 

"  I  ought  to  kill  you,"  Orlando  said  quietly  after  a 
moment,  yet  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "  I  ought  to  kill 
you,  Mazarine,  but  that  would  only  be  playing  your  game ; 
for  the  law  would  get  hold  of  me,  and  the  girl  that  has 
left  you  would  be  sorrowful,  for  she  knows  I  love  her, 
though  I  never  told  her  so.  She'd  be  sorry  to  see  the  law 
get  at  me.  She's  going  to  be  mine  some  day,  in  the  right 
way.  I'm  not  going  behind  your  back  to  say  it;  I'm 


ORLANDO  GIVES  A  WARNING  123 

announcing1  it  to  all  and  sundry.  I  never  did  a  thing  to 
her  that  couldn't  have  been  seen  by  all  the  world,  and 
I  never  said  a  thing  to  her  that  couldn't  be  heard  by  all 
the  world ;  but  I  hope  she'll  never  go  back  to  you.  You've 
made  a  sewer  for  her  to  live  in,  not  a  home.  As  I  said,  I 
ought  to  kill  you,  but  that  would  play  your  game,  so  I 
won't — not  now.  But  I  tell  you  this,  Mazarine :  if  I  ever 
meet  you  again — and  I'm  sure  to  do  so — and  you  don't  get 
off  the  road  I'm  travelling  on,  or  the  sidewalk  I'm  walking 
on,  when  I  meet  you  or  when  I  pass  you,  I'll  let  you  have 
what'll  send  you  to  hell,  before  you  can  wink  twice. 

"  As  for  Louise — as  for  her :  I  don't  know  where  she 
is,  but  I'll  find  her.  One  thing  is  sure:  if  I  see  her,  I'll 
tell  her  never  to  go  back  to  you ;  and  she  won't.  You've 
drunk  at  the  waters  of  Canaan  for  the  last  time.  For  a 
Christian  you're  pretty  filthy.  Go  and  wash  in  the  pool 
of  Siloam  and  be  clean— damn  you,  Mazarine ! " 

With  that  he  turned,  almost  unheeding  the  hands  thrust 
out  to  grip  his,  the  voices  murmuring  approval.  In  a 
moment  he  had  swung  his  horses  round.  He  did  not  go 
beyond  ten  yards,  however,  before  someone,  running  be- 
side his  wagon,  whispered  up  to  him :  "  She's  out  at  Nolan 
Doyle's  Ranch.  She  went  with  the  Young  Doctor  and 
Patsy  Kernaghan." 

Behind,  in  the  street,  a  young  boy  came  running 
through  the  crowd  and  shouting : "  I  know  where  they  are ! 
I  know  where  they  are ! "  He  stopped  before  Mazarine. 
"  Gimme  half  a  dollar,  and  I'll  tell  you:  where  your  horses 
are.  Gimme  half  a  dollar.  Gimme  half  a  dollar,  and  I'll 
tell  you." 

An  instant  later,  with  the  half-dollar  in  his  hand,  he 
said :  "  They're  up  to  the  shed  of  the  Meetin'  House." 

"  Yes,  go  along  up  to  the  Meetin'  House,  Mr.  Maza- 


i24  WILD  YOUTH 

rine,"  said  one  of  the  miscreants  who  had  driven  the 
horses  there.  "  They're  holding  a  post  mortem  on  you  at 
the  prayer-meetin'.  They  say  you're  dead  in  trespasses 
and  sins.  Get  along,  Joel." 

The  crowd  started  to  follow  him  to  the  shed  where  his 
horses  were,  but  after  a  moment  he  turned  on  them  and 
said: 

"  Ain't  you  heerd  and  seen  enough  ?  Ain't  there  no 
law  to  protect  a  man  ?  " 

A  hoe  was  leaning  against  a  fence.  He  saw  it,  and  with 
sudden  fury,  seizing  it,  swung  it  round  his  head  as  if  to 
throw  it  into  the  crowd.  At  that  moment  a  stalwart  con- 
stable ran  forward,  raised  a  hand  towards  Mazarine,  and 
then  addressed  the  crowd. 

"  We've  had  enough  of  this,"  he  said.  "  I'll  lock  up 
any  man  that  goes  a  step  further  towards  the  Meetin* 
House.  iWhere  do  you  think  you  are  ?  This  is  Askatoon, 
the  place  of  peace  and  happiness,  and  we're  going  to  be 
happy,  if  I  have  to  lock  up  the  hull  lot  of  you.  I  guess 
you  can  go  right  on,  Mr.  Mazarine,"  he  added.  "  Go 
right  on  and  git  your  wagon." 

A  moment  later  Mazarine  was  walking  alone  towards 
the  Meeting  House  j'but  no,  not  alone,  for  a  hundred  devils 
were  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
FILION  AND  FIONA 

PATSY  KERNAGHAN  was  in  his  element  in  the  garden 
with  which  Norah  Doyle  had  decorated  the  brown  bosom, 
of  the  prairie.  It  had  verdant  shrubs,  green  turf,  thick 
fringes  of  flowers,  and  one  solitary  elm-tree  in  the  center 
whose  branches  spread  like  a  cedar  of  Lebanon.  In  the 
moonlight  Patsy  had  the  telling  of  a  wonderful  story 
to  such  an  audience  as  he  had  never  had  before  in  his 
life,  and  he  had  had  them  from  Bundoran  to  Limerick, 
from  Limerick  to  the  foothills  of  the  Rockies. 

The  seance  of  love  and  legend  had  been  Patsy's  own 
idea.  At  the  •supper-table  spread  by  Norah  Doyle,  in  spite 
of  the  protests  of  her  visitors — the  Young  Doctor,  Louise 
and  Patsy — Nolan  Doyle,  who  had  a  fine  gift  for  playful 
talk,  had  tried  to  keep  the  situation  free  from  melodrama. 
Yet  Patsy  had  observed  that,  in  spite  of  all  efforts,  Louise's 
eyes  now  and  then  filled  with  tears.  Also,  he  saw  that 
her  senses  seemed  alert  for  something  outside  their  little 
circle.  It  was  as  though  she  expected  someone  to  arrive. 
She  was  in  that  state  which  is  not  normal  and  yet  not 
abnormal — a  kind  of  trance  in  which  she  did  ordinary 
things  in  a  natural  way,  yet  mechanically,  without  full 
consciousness. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  table  who  did  not  realize  for 
what,  and  for  whom,  she  was  waiting.  To  her  primitive 
spirit,  now  that  she  was  in  trouble  because  of  him,  it 
seemed  inevitable  that  Orlando  should  come.  One  thing 
was  fixed  in  her  mind :  she  would  never  return  to  Tralee  or 
to  the  man  whose  odious  presence  made  her  feel  as  though 
she  were  in  a  cage  with  an  animal. 

125 


126  WILD  YOUTH 

Jonas  Billings  had  called  him  "  the  ancient  one  from 
the  jungle,"  and  that  was  how  at  last  he  appeared  to  her. 
His  arms  and  breast  were  thick  with  hair ;  the  hair  on  his 
face  grew  almost  up  to  the  eyes;  the  fingers  of  his  splayed 
hands  were  blunt  and  broad ;  and  his  hair  was  like  a  nest 
for  things  of  the  jungle  undergrowth. 

Since  she  had  been  awakened,  the  memory  of  his  hot 
breath  in  her  face,  of  his  clumsy  fevered  embrace  was 
a  torment  to  her ;  for  always  in  contrast  there  were  the 
fresh  clean-shaven  cheeks  and  chin  of  a  young  Berserker 
with  honest,  wondering  blue  eyes,  the  curly  head  of  a 
child,  and  body  and  limbs  like  a  young  lean  stag. 

Orlando's  touch  was  never  either  clammy  or  fevered. 
She  could  recall  every  time  that  he  had  touched  her: 
when  her  fingers  and  his  met  on  the  afternoon  that  Li 
Choo  had  thrown  himself  down  the  staircase  with  the 
priceless  porcelain ;  also  the  evening  of  the  night  spent  on 
the  prairie  when,  after  the  accident,  her  hand  had  been 
linked  into  his  arm ;  also  when  he  had  clasped  her  ringers 
at  their  meeting  in  the  morning.  On  each  occasion  she 
had  felt  a  thrill  like  that  of  music — persuasive,  living 
vibrations  passing  to  remote  recesses  of  her  being. 

No  nearer  had  she  ever  come  to  the  man  she  loved, 
no  nearer  had  he  sought  to  come.  Once,  the  evening 
after  the  night  spent  on  the  prairie,  when  old  Joel  Mazarine 
had  tried  to  make  her  pray  and  ask  God's  forgiveness,  and 
he  had  kissed  her  with  the  lips  of  hungry  old  age,  she  had 
suddenly  sat  up  in  bed,  her  heart  beating  hard,  every  nerve 
palpitating,  because  in  imagination  she  had  seen  herself 
in  Orlando's  arms,  with  his  lips  pressed  to  hers. 

Poor  neophyte  in  life's  mysteries,  having  served  as  a 
slave  at  false  altars  of  which  she  did  not  even  know  the 
ritual !  It  was  no  wonder  that,  after  all  she  had  suffered, 


FILION  AND  FIONA  127 

she  could  not  now  bring  herself  into  tune  with  the  com- 
monplace intercourse  of  life.  Not  that  her  friends  utterly 
failed  to  lure  her  into  it.  She  might  well  have  been  the 
victim  of  hysterics,  but  she  was  only  distrait,  pensive  and 
gently  smiling,  with  the  smile  of  a  good  heart.  Smiling 
with  her  had  ever  taken  the  place  of  conversation.  It 
was  an  apology  for  not  speaking  when  she  could  not  speak 
what  she  felt. 

Once  during  the  meal  she  seemed  to  start  slightly,  as 
though  she  heard  a  familiar  sound,  and  for  same  minutes 
afterwards  she  seemed  to  be  listening,  as  it  were,  for  a 
knock  at  the  door,  which  did  not  come.  Immediately 
after  that,  Patsy,  happy  in  sitting  down  to  table  with 
"the  quality" — for  such  they  were  to  him — because  he 
saw  that  Louise  must  -be  distracted,  and  because  he  had 
seen  story-telling,  many  a  time,  draw  people  away  from 
their  troubles  even  more  than  music,  said : 

"  Did  you  remember  the  day  it  is,  anny  of  you  ?  Shure, 
it's  St.  Droid's  Day !  Aw,  then,  don't  you  know  who  he 
was?  You  don't!  Well,  well,  there's  no  tellin'  how 
ignorant  the  wurruld  can  be.  St.  Droid — aw,  he  was  a 
good  man  that  brought  the  two  children  of  Chief  Diarmid 
and  Queen  Moira  together.  You  didn't  know  about  them 
two  ?  You  niver  h'ard  of  Chief  Diarmid  and  Queen  Moira 
and  their  two  lovely  children?  Well,  there  it  is,  there's 
no  sayin'  how  ignorant  y'are  if  y'are  not  Irish.  Aw  no, 
they  wasn't  man  and  wife.  Diarmid  was  a  widower  and 
Moira  was  a  widow.  Diarmid's  boy  was  Filion  and 
Moira's  girl  was  Fiona,  an'  the  troubles  of  the  two'd  make 
a  book  for  ivry  day  of  the  week,  an'  two  for  Sunday. 

An'  the  way  that  St.  Droid  brought  them  two  together 

Aw,  come  outside  in  the  gardin  where  the  moon's  to  the 
full,  an'  it's  warm  enough  for  anny  man  or  woman  that's 


128  WILD  YOUTH 

got  a  warm  heart,  an'  I'll  tell  you  the  story  of  Filion  and 
Fiona.  You'll  not  be  f  orgettin'  the  names  of  them  now, 
will  ye?  And  while  I'm  tellin'  you,  all  the  time  you'll  be 
tthinkin'  of  St.  Droid,  for  it's  his  day.  It  was  nothin' 
till  him,  St.  Droid,  that  he  lived  in  a  cave,  you  understan'. 
Wasn't  his  face  like  the  sun  comin*  up  over  the  lake  at 
Ballinhoe  in  the  month  of  June?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter 
if  you've  niver  seen  Ballinhoe — you  understan'  what  I 
mean.  Well  then,  come  out  antil  the  gardin,  darlin's. 
Shure,  I'm  achin'  to  tell  you  the  story — as  fine  a  love- 
story  as  iver  was  told  to  -man  and  woman." 

So  it  was  that  Louise  with  eyes  alight — for  Patsy  had 
a  voice  that  could  stir  imagination  in  the  dullest — so  it 
was  that  Louise  and  the  others  went  out  into  the  moonlit 
garden,  the  prairie  around  them  like  an  endless  waste  of 
sea.  There  they  placed  themselves  in  a  half  circle  around 
Patsy,  who  sat  upon  a  little  bench,  with  his  back  to  the 
big  spreading  elm-tree,  which  by  some  special  gift  had 
grown  alone  over  the  myriad  years,  defying  storm  and 
winter's  frost,  until  it  seemed  to  have  an  honored  per- 
manence, as  stable  as  the  prairie  earth  itself. 

As  they  seated  themselves,  there  was  renewed  in  Louise 
the  feeling  she  had  at  supper-time,  when  she  had  imagined 
— or  had  her  senses  accurately  divined? — that  Orlando 
was  near,  so  sure  had  been  the  sensation  that  she  had 
expected  Orlando  to  enter  the  room  where  they  sat.  Now 
it  was  on  her  again,  and  somehow  she  felt  him  there  with 
her.  He  was  Filion  and  she  was  Fiona. 

Since  the  day  she  had  first  seen  Orlando,  she  had 
awakened  to  life's  realities.  There  had  grown  in  her  an 
alertness  and  a  delicate  sense  of  things,  which,  though 
natural  to  one  (born  with  a  soul  that  cared  little  for  sordid 
things,  was  not  common,  except  in  Celtic  circles  where  the 


FILION  AND  FIONA  129 

unseen  thing  is  more  real  than  the  seen — where  gold  and 
precious  stones  are  only  valued  in  so  far  as  they  can 
purchase  freedom,  dreams  and  desire. 

Louise  had  not  been  thrilled  without  cause.  Orlando, 
the  real  material  Orlando,  had  driven  out  to  Nolan  Doyle's 
Ranch,  but  having  come  could  not  at  first  bring  himself 
to  enter.  Something  in  him  kept  saying  that  it  was  not 
fair  to  her ;  kept  admonishing  him  to  let  things  take  their 
course ;  that  now  was  not  the  time  to  see  her ;  that  it  might 
place  her  in  a  false  position.  Blameless  though  she  was, 
she  might  be  blamed  by  the  world,  if  he  and  she,  on  the 
night  that  she  fled  from  Joel  Mazarine,  should  meet,  and, 
above  all,  meet  alone — and  what  was  the  good  of  meeting 
at  all,  if  they  did  not  meet  alone !  What  could  two  voice- 
less people  say  to  each  other,  people  who  only  spoke  with 
their  hearts  and  souls,  when  others  were  staring  at  them, 
watching  every  act,  listening  for  every  word.  His  better 
sense  kept  telling  him  to  go  back  to  Slow  Down  Ranch. 

But  there  she  was  inside  Nolan  Doyle's  house,  and  he 
had  come  deliberately  to  see  her. 

He  stood  outside  in  the  garden  near  the  great  spread- 
ing elm-tree,  torn  iby  a  sense  of  duty  and  a  sense  of  desire ; 
but  the  desire  was  to  let  her  see  by  his  presence  that  he 
would  be  a  tower  of  strength  to  her,  no  matter  what  hap- 
pened. It  was  not  the  desire  which  had  possessed  him 
whom  Patsy  Kernaghan  had  called  the  keeper  of  the 
"  zoolyogical "  garden. 

He  had  just  made  up  his  mind  that  courage  was  the 
right  thing :  that  he  must  see  her  in  the  presence  of  others 
for  one  minute,  whatever  the  issue,'  when  she  came  out 
with  Patsy  Kernaghan,  the  Young  Doctor,  and  Norah  and 
Nolan  Doyle.  None  saw  him,  and,  as  they  seated  them- 
selves, he  stepped  noiselessly  under  the  spreading  branches 


i3o  WILD  YOUTH 

of  the  elm-tree.  He  would  not  speak  to  them  yet;  he 
would  wait.  In  the  shade  made  by  the  drooping  branches 
he  could  not  be  seen,  yet  he  could  hear  and  see  all. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Patsy  began 
the  tale  of  St.  Droid — "  whoever  he  was,"  as  Patsy  said 
to  himself ;  for  he  was  going  to  make  up  out  of  his  head 
this  story  of  St.  Droid  and  St.  Droid's  Day,  and  Queen 
Moira,  Filion  and  Fiona.  It  was  a  bold  idea,  but  it  gave 
Patsy  the  opportunity  of  his  life. 

His  description  of  Black  Brian,  the  rich,  ruthless  King, 
to  whom  Queen  Moira  gave  her  daughter  Fiona,  despite 
the  girl's  bitter  sorrow,  was  a  masterpiece.  It  was  mod- 
elled on  Joel  Mazarine.  It  was  the  behemoth  transferred 
to  Ireland,  to  the  cromleclis  and  castles,  to  the  causeways, 
the  caves,  and  the  stony  hillsides — to  the  bogs  and  the 
quicksands  and  the  Little  Men ;  but  it  could  not  be  recog- 
nized as  a  portrait,  though  everyone  felt  how  wonderful  it 
was  that  a  legend  of  a  thousand  years  should  be  so  close 
to  the  life  of  Askatoon. 

Patsy  had  no  knowledge  of  what  the  mother  of  Louise 
was  like,  but  the  likeness  between  her  cruel,  material, 
selfish  spirit  and  Queen  Moira,  in  the  sacrifice  of  their 
offspring,  provoked  the  admiration  of  the  Young  Doctor, 
whose  philosophical  mind  had  soon  discovered  that  Patsy 
was  making  up  the  tale. 

That  did  not  matter.  Having  got  the  thing  started, 
'Patsy  gave  reins  to  his  imagination;  and  storm,  terror, 
danger,  and  the  capture  of  Fiona  by  Filion,  from  Black 
Brian's  castle  in  the  hills,  was  told  with  primitive  force 
and  passion.  But  the  most  wonderful  part  of  the  story 
described  how  a  strange  dwarfed  Little  Man  came  out  of 
the  hills  in  the  East,  across  the  land,  to  the  western 
fastness  of  Black  Brian,  and  there  slew  that  eril  man, 


FILION  AND  FIONA  131 

because  of  an  ancient  feud — slew  him  in  a  situation  of 
great  indignity,  and  left  him  lying  on  the  sands  for  the 
tide  to  wash  him  out  to  the  deep  and  hungry  sea.  Even 
here  Patsy  had  his  inspiration  from  real  life ;  and  yet  he 
disguised  it  all  so  well  that  no  one  except  the  Young 
Doctor  even  imagined  what  he  meant. 

Under  the  tree  Orlando  listened  with  strained  atten- 
tion, absorbed  and,  at  times,  almost  overcome.  His  long 
sigh  of  relief  was  joined  to  the  sighs  of  the  others  when 
Patsy  finished.  The  Young  Doctor  rose  to  go,  and  the 
others  rose  also. 

"  That's  a  wonderful  story,  Patsy,"  said  the  Young 
Doctor  to  him ;  and  he  added  quizzically :  "  You  tell  it  so 
well  because  you've  told  it  so  often  before,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Aw,  well,  that's  it,  I  expect,"  answered  the  Irishman 
coolly. 

"  I  thought  so,"  responded  the  Young  Doctor.  '*  Now, 
how  many  times  do  you  think  you've  told  that  story 
before,  Patsy?" 

"  About  a  hundred,  I  should  think ;  or  no— I  should 
think  about  two  hundred  times,"  answered  Patsy  shame- 
lessly. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Young  Doctor,  but  before 
tuning  to  go  into  the  house,  he  leaned  and  whispered  in 
his  ear :  "  Patsy,  you're  the  most  beautiful  liar  that  ever 
came  out  of  Ireland." 

"  Aw,  Doctor  dear ! "  said  Patsy  softly. 

They  all  moved  towards  the  house,  save  Louise. 

"  Please,  I  want  to  stay  behind  a  minute  or  two,"  she 
said,  as  she  held  out  a  hand  to  the  Young  Doctor. 
"  Don't  wait  for  me.  I  want  to  be  alone  a  little  while." 

Once  more  the  Young  Doctor  felt  the  trembling  appeal 


132  WILD  YOUTH 

of  her  palm  as  on  the  first  day  they  met,  and  he  gripped 
her  hand  warmly. 

"  It  will  all  come  right.  Good-niglit,  my  dear,"  he 
said  cheerfully.  "  Have  a  good  sleep  oa  it." 

Louise  remained  in  the  garden  alone,  tiie  mo*n  shining 
on  her  face  lifted  to  the  sky.  For  a  moment  she  stood  so, 
wrapped  in  the  peace  of  the  night,  but  her  body  was  almost 
panting  from  the  thrill  of  the  legend  which  Patsy  Ker- 
naghan  had  told.  As  he  had  meant  it  to  do,  it  gave  her 
hope ;  although  before  her  eyes  was  the  picture  that  Patsy 
had  drawn  of  Black  Brian  with  his  great  sword  beside  him 
lying  on,  the  sands,  waiting  for  the  hungry  sea  to  claim  him. 

Presently  there  stole  through  the  warm  air  of  the  night 
the  sound  of  her  own  name.  She  did  not  start.  It  seemed 
to  her  part  of  the  dream  in  which  she  was.  Her  hand 
went  to  her  heart,  however. 

Again  in  Orlando's  voice  came  th ;  word  "  Louise,"  a 
little  louder  now.  She  turned  towards  the  tree,  and  there 
beside  it  stood  Orlando. 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  sense  of  unreality,  of  ghost- 
liness,  and  then  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  \  ain  and  joy. 
As  she  ran  towards  him,  with  sudden  impulse,  his  arms 
spread  out  and  he  caught  her  to  his  breast. 

His  lips  swept  her  hair.  "  Louise !  Louise ! "  he  whis- 
pered passionately.  For  an  instant  they  stood  so,  and 
then  he  gently  pressed  her  away  from  him. 

"  I  had  to  come,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  know  that, 
whatever  happens,  you  may  depend  on  me.  When  you 
call,  I  will  come.  I  must  go  now.  For  your  sake  I  must 
not  stay.  I  had  to  see  you,  I  had  to  tell  you  what  I  had 
never  told  you." 

"  You've  always  told  me,"  she  murmured. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  clasp  hers.    He  did  not 


WHATEVER  HAPPENS  YOU  MAY  DEPEND  ON  ME7 


FILION  AND  FIONA  133 

dare  to  open  his  arms  again.  The  lips  which  he  had  never 
kissed  were  very  near,  and  ah,  so  sweet !  She  must  not 
come  to  him  now. 

One  swift  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  then  he  vaulted  over 
the  fence  and  was  gone.  A  few  moments  afterwards  she 
heard  the  rumble  of  his  wagon  on  the  prairie — he  had  tied 
up  his  horses  some  distance  from  the  house. 

As  the  Young  Doctor  drove  homeward  with  Patsy 
Kernaghan,  he  also  heard  the  rumble  of  the  wagon  not 
far  in  front  of  him.  Then  he  began  to  wonder  why  Louise 
had  waited  behind  in  the  garden.  He  put  the  thought 
away  from  him,  however.  There  was  no  deceit  in  Louise ; 
he  was  sure  of  that. 


CHAPTER  XV 
OUTWARD  BOUND 

JOEL  MAZARINE  did  not  take  the  trail  to  Tralee  imme- 
diately after  he  found  his  wagon  and  horses  in  the  shed 
of  the  Methodist  Meeting  House.  As  he  drove  through 
the  main  street  of  Askatoon  again,  his  lawyer — Burlin- 
game's  rival — waved  a  hand  towards  him  in  greeting.  An 
idea  suddenly  possessed  the  old  man,  and  he  stopped  the 
horses  and  beckoned. 

"  Get  in  and  come  to  your  office  with  me,"  he  said  to 
the  lawyer.  "  There's  some  business  to  do  right  off." 

The  unpopularity  of  a  client  in  no  way  affects  a  lawyer. 
Indeed,  the  most  notorious  criminal  is  the  greatest  legal 
advertisement,  and  the  fortunate  part  of  the  business  is 
that  no  lawyer  is  ever  identified  with  the  morals,  crimes  or 
virtues  of  his  client,  yet  has  particular  advantage  from 
his  crimes.  So  it  was  that  Mazarine's  lawyer  enjoyed  the 
public  attention  given  to  his  drive  through  the  town  with 
Mazarine.  He  could  hear  this  man  say,  "  Hello,  what's 
up !  "  or  another  remark  that  the  Law  and  the  Gospel  were 
out  for  war. 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  enter  the  office,  however, 
Jonas  Billings,  who  had  a  faculty  for  being  everywhere 
at  the  interesting  moment,  said,  so  as  to  be  heard  by 
Mazarine  and  his  lawyer,  and  all  others  standing  near : 

"Goin'  to  leave  his  property  away  from  his  wife! 
Makin'  a  new  will — eh  ?  That's  it,  stamp  on  a  girl  when 
she's  down!  When  you  can't  win  the  woman,  keep  the 
cash.  Woe  is  me,  Willy,  but  the  wild  one  rageth !  " 

Jonas's  drawling,  nasal,  high-pitched  sarcasm  reached 


OUTWARD  BOUND  135 

Mazarine's  ears  and  stung  him.  He  lurched  round,  and 
with  beady  eyes  blinking  with  malice,  said  roughly :  "  The 
fool  is  known  by  his  folly." 

"You  don't  need  to  label  yourself,  Mr.  Mazarine," 
retorted  Jonas  with  a  grin. 

The  crowd  laughed  in  approval.  The  loose  lower  lip 
of  the  Master  of  Tralee  quivered.  The  leviathan  was 
being  tortured  by  the  little  sharks. 

Presently  the  door  of  the  lawyer's  office  slammed  on 
the  street,  and  Mazarine  .proceeded  to  make  a  new  will, 
which  should  leave  everything  away  from  Louise.  After 
he  had  slowly  dictated  the  terms  of  the  will,  with  a  glu- 
tinous solemnity  he  said : 

"  There ;  that's  what  conies  of  breaking  the  laws  of 
God  and  man.  That's  what  a  woman  loses  who  doesn't 
do  her  duty  by  the  man  that  can  give  her  everything, 
and  that's  giving  her  everything,  while  she  plays  the 
Jezebel." 

"  I'll  complete  this  for  you,  and  you  can  sign  it  now," 
remarked  the  lawyer  evasively,  not  without  shrinking; 
"  but  it  won't  stand  as  it  is,  or  as  you  want  it  to  stand, 
because  Mrs.  Mazarine  has  her  legal  claims  in  spite  of  it ! 
She's  got  a  wife's  dower-rights  according  to  the  law. 
That's  one-third  of  your  property.  It's  the  law  of  the 
land,  and  you  can't  sign  it  away  from  her,  Mr.  Mazarine." 

The  old  man's  face  darkened  still  more ;  his  crooked 
fingers  twisted  in  his  beard. 

"  I  see  you  forgot  that,"  added  the  lawyer.  "  There's 
only  one  way  to  dispossess  her,  and  that's  to  put  her 
through  divorce — if  you  think  you  can.  Of  course  this 
document'll  stand  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  it's  perfectly 
legal,  but  it  isn't  what  you  intend,  and  she'd  get  her  one- 
third  in  spite  of  it." 


136  WILD  YOUTH 

"  I'll  come  back  to-morrow,"  said  the  old  man,  rising 
to  his  feet.  "  You  make  it  out,  and  I'll  come  back  and 
sign  it  to-morrow.  I'll  make  a  sure  thing  of  so  much, 
anyway.  The  divorce'll  settle  the  rest.  You  have  it  ready 
at  noon  to-morrow,  and  you  can  start  divorce  proceedings 
to-morrow,  too.  There's  plenty  of  evidence.  She  run 
away  from  me  to  go  to  him.  She  stayed  with  him  a  whole 
night  on  the  prairie.  I  want  the  divorce,  and  I  can  get  the 
evidence.  Everybody  knows.  This  is  the  Lord's  business, 
and  I  mean  to  see  it  through.  Shame  has  come  to  the 
house  of  a  servant  of  the  Lord,  and  there  must  be  purging. 
In  the  days  of  David  she  would  have  been  stoned  to  death, 
and  not  so  far  back  as  that,  either." 

A  moment  afterwards  he  was  gone,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him.  His  blood  was  up — a  turgid,  angry  flood 
almost  bursting  his  veins.  He  now  made  his  way  to  the 
house  of  the  Methodist  minister.  There  he  announced 
that  if  he  was  disciplined  at  Quarterly  Meeting,  as  was 
talked  about  in  the  streets,  he  would  go  to  law  against 
every  class-leader  for  defamation  of  character. 

By  the  time  this  was  done  the  evening  was  well  ad- 
vanced. He  did  not  leave  Askatoon  until  the  moment 
which  coincided  with  that  in  which  Orlando  left  Nolan 
Doyle's  garden  and  took  the  trail  to  Slow  Down  Ranch. 
Orlando  would  strike  the  trail  from  Askatoon  to  Tralee  at 
a  point  where  another  trail  also  joined. 

Mazarine  drove  fast  through  the  town,  as  though  eager 
to  put  it  behind  him,  'but  when  he  reached  the  trail  on 
the  prairie  he  slackened  his  pace,  and  drove  steadily  home- 
wards, lost  in  the  darkest  reflections  he  had  ever  known ; 
and  that  was  saying  much.  The  reins  lay  loose  in  his 
fingers,  and  he  became  so  absorbed  that  he  was  conscious 
of  nothing  save  movement. 


OUTWARD  BOUND  137 

The  heart  of  Black  Brian,  the  King-,  of  whom  Patsy 
Kernaghan  told  his  mythical  story  in  Nolan  Doyle's 
garden,  had  never  housed  more  repulsive  thoughts  than 
were  in  Mazarine's  heart  in  this  unfortunate  hour  of  his 
own  making.  No  single  feeling  of  kindness  was  in  his 
spirit.  He  heard  nothing,  was  conscious  of  nothing,  save 
his  own  grim,  fantastic  imaginings. 

A  jealousy  and  hatred  as  terrible  as  ever  possessed  a 
man  were  on  him.  An  egregious  self-will,  a  dreadful  spirit 
of  unholy  old  age  in  him,  was  turned  hatefully  upon  the 
youth  long  since  gone  from  himself — the  youth  which, 
in  its  wild,  innocent  ardors,  had  brought  two  young  people 
together,  one  of  them  his  own  captive  for  years. 

The  peace  of  the  prairie,  the  shining,  infant  moon,  the 
kindly  darkness,  were  all  at  variance  with  the  soul  of  the 
man,  wfoose  only  possession  was  what  money  could  buy; 
and  what  money  had  bought  in  the  way  of  human  flesh 
and  blood,  beauty  and  sweet  youth  he  had  not  been  able 
to  hold.  To  his  mind,  what  was  the  good  of  having 
riches  and  power,  if  you  could  not  also  have  love,  licence 
and  the  loot  of  the  conqueror ! 

He  had  wrestled  with  the  Lord  in  prayer;  he  had  been 
a  class-leader  and  a  lay-preacher;  he  had  exhorted  and 
denounced;  he  had  pleaded  and  proscribed;  yet  never 
in  all  his  days  of  professed  religion  had  a  heart  for  others 
really  moved  Joel  Mazarine. 

He  had  given  now  and  then  of  gold  and  silver,  because 
of  the  glow  of  mind  which  the  upraised  hands  of  admira- 
tion brought  him,  mistaking  it  for  the  real  thing;  but  his 
life  had  been  barren  because  it  bad  not  emptied  itself  for 
others,  at  any  time,  or  anywhere. 

He  had  been  a  professed  Christian,  not  because  of 
Olivet,  but  because  of  Sinai.  It  was  the  stormy  authority 


138  WILD  YOUTH 

of  the  sword  of  the  Lord  of  Gideon  of  the  Old  Testament 
which  had  drawn  him  into  the  fold  of  religion.  It  was 
some  strain  of  heredity,  his  upbringing,  the  life  into  which 
he  was  born,  pious,  pedantic  and  preposterously  prayerful, 
which  had  made  him  a  professional  Christian,  as  he  was 
a  professional  farmer,  rancher  and  money-maker.  For 
such  a  man  'there  never  could  be  peace. 

In  his  own  world  of  wanton  inhumanity,  oblivious  of 
all  except  his  torturing  thoughts,  he  did  not  know  that, 
as  he  neared  the  cross  trails  on  his  way  homewards, 
something  shadowy,  stooping,  sprang  up  from  the  roadside 
and  slip-slopped  after  his  wagon — slip-slopped — slip- 
slopped — catching  the  thud  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  and  mak- 
ing its  footsteps  coincide. 

All  at  once  the  shadowy  figure  swung  itself  up  softly 
and  remained  for  an  instant,  half-kneeling,  in  the  body 
of  tba  wagon.  Then  suddenly,  noiselessly,  it  rose  up, 
leaned  over  the  absorbed  Joel  Mazarine,  and  with  long, 
hooked,  steely  fingers  caught  the  throat  of  the  Master  of 
Tralee  under  the  grayish,  beard.  They  clenched  there  with 
a  power  like  that  of  three  men ;  for  this  was  the  kind  of 
grip  which,  far  away  in  the  country  of  the  Yang-tse-kiang, 
Li  Choo  had  learned  in  the  days  when  he  had  made  youth 
a  thing  to  be  remembered. 

No  convulsive  effort  on  the  part  of  the  victim  could 
loosen  that  terrible  grip;  but  the  horses,  responding  to 
the  first  jerk  of  the  reins  following  the  attack,  stood  still, 
while  a  human  soul  was  being  wrenched  out  of  the  world 
behind  them. 

No  word  was  spoken.  From  the  moment  the  fingers 
clutched  his  throat,  Joel  Mazarine  could  not  speak,  and  Li 
Choo  did  his  swift  work  in  grim  and  ghastly  silence. 

It  did  not  take  long.    When  the  vain  struggles  had 


OUTWARD  BOUND  139 

ceased  and  the  fingers  were  loosened,  Li  Ghoo's  tongue 
clucked  in  his  mouth,  once,  twice,  thrice;  and  that  was 
all.  It  was  a  ghastly  sort  of  mirth,  and  it  had  in  it  a 
multitude  of  things.  Among  them  were  vengeance  and  wild 
justice,  and  the  thing  that  comes  down  through  innumer- 
able years  in  the  Oriental  mind — that  the  East  is  greater 
than  the  West;  that  now  and  then  the  East  must  prove 
itself  against  the  West  with  all  the  cruelty  of  the  world's 
prime. 

For  a  moment  Li  Choo  stood  and  looked  at  the  motion- 
less figure,  with  the  head  fallen  on  the  breast ;  then  he  put 
the  reins  carefully  in  the  hands  of  the  dead  man,  placed 
the  fallen  hat  on  his  head,  climbed  down  from  the  wagon, 
patted  a  horse  as  he  slip-slopped  by,  and  disappeared 
towards  Tralee  into  the  night,  leaving  what  was  left  of 
Joel  Mazarine  in  his  wagon  at  the  crossing  of  the  trails. 

As  Li  Choo  stole  swiftly  away,  he  met  two  other  fig- 
ures, silent  and  shadowy,  and  somehow  strangely  unreal, 
like  his  own.  After  a  moment's  whispering,  they  all  three 
turned  their  faces  again  towards  Tralee. 

Once  they  stopped  and  listened.  There  was  the  sound 
of  wagons.  One  was  coming  from  the  north — that  is, 
from  the  direction  of  Tralee ;  the  other  was  coming  from 
the  southeast — that  is,  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch. 

Li  Choo's  tongue  clucked  in  his  mouth ;  then  he  made 
an  exclamation  in  Chinese,  at  which  the  others  clucked 
also,  and  then  they  moved  on  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AT  THE  CROSS  TRAILS 

LIKE  Joel  Mazarine  on  his  journey  from  Askatoon, 
Orlando,  on  his  journey  from  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch,  was 
absorbed,  but  his  reflections  were  as  different  from  those 
of  the  Master  of  Tralee  as  sunrise  is  from  midnight;  in- 
deed, so  bright  was  the  light  within  Orlando's  spirit  that 
the  very  prairie  around  him  seemed  aflame.  The  moment 
with  Louise  in  the  garden  lighted  by  the  dim  moon,  the 
passing  instant  of  perfect  understanding,  the  touch  of 
her  hair  upon  his  lips,  her  supple  form  yielding  to  his  as 
he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  had  dropped  like  a  curtain 
between  him  and  the  fateful  episode  in  the  main  street  of 
Askatoon. 

That  wonderful  elation  of  youth  on  its  first  excursion 
into  perfumed  meads  of  Love  possessed  him.  He  had 
never  had  flutterings  of  the  heart  for  any  woman  until 
his  eyes  met  the  eyes  of  Louise  at  their  first  meeting, 
and  a  new  world  had  been  opened  up  to  him.  He  had 
been  as  naive  and  native  a  human  being,  with  all  his 
apparent  foppishness,  as  had  ever  moved  among  men. 
What  seemed  his  vanity  had  nothing  to  do  with  thoughts 
of  womankind.  It  had  been  a  decorative  sense  come 
honestly  from  picturesque  forebears,  and  indeed  from  his 
own  mother. 

In  truth,  until  the  day  he  had  met  Louise,  or  rather 
until  the  day  of  the  broncho-busting,  and  the  fateful  night 
on  the  prairie,  he  had  never  grown  up.  He  was  wise  with 
the  wisdom  of  a  child — sheer  instinct,  lightness  of  mind, 
real  decision  of  character.  His  giggling  laugh  had  been 
140 


AT  THE  CROSS  TRAILS  141 

the  undisciplined  simplicity  of  the  child,  which,  when 
he  had  reached  manhood,  had  never  been  formalized  by 
conventions.  Something  indefinite  had  marked  him  until 
Louise  ha4  come,  and  now  he  was  definite,  determined, 
alive  wifeh  a  new  feeling  which  made  his  spirit  sing — his 
spirit  and  his  lips;  for,  as  he  came  frem  Nolan  Boyle's 
ranch  to  the  cross  trails,  he  kept  humming  to  himself, 
between  moments  of  silence  in  which  he  visualized  Louise 
•in  a  hundred  attitudes,  as  he  had  seen  her.  There  had 
come  to  him,  without  the  asking  even,  that  which  Joel 
Mazarine,  had  he  been  as  rich  as  any  man  alive  or  dead, 
could  not  have  bought.  That  was  why  he  hummed  to 
himself  in  happiness. 

Youth  answering  to  youth  had  claimed  its  own ;  love 
springing  from  the  dawn,  brave  and  bright-eyed,  had 
waved  its  wand  towards  that  good  country  called  Home. 
Never  from  the  first  had  any  thought  come  into  the  minds 
of  either  of  these  two  that  was  not  linked  with  the  idea 
of  home.  Nothing  of  the  jungle  had  been  in  their  thoughts, 
though  they  had  been  tempted,  and  love  and  the  moment's 
despair  had  stung  them  to  take  revenge  in  each  other's 
arms;  yet  they  had  kept  the  narrow  path.  There  was 
in  their  love  something  primeval,  that  belonged  to  the 
beginning  of  the  world. 

Orlando  had  almost  reached  the  cross  trails  before  he 
saw  Mazarine's  wagon  standing  in  the  way.  At  first  he 
did  not  recognize  the  horses,  and  he  called  to  the  driver 
sitting  motionless  to  move  aside.  He  took  it  to  be  some 
drunken  ranchman. 

Presently,  however,  coming  nearer,  he  recognized  the 
horses  and  the  man.  Standing  up,  Orlando  was  about 
to  call  out  again  in  peremptory  tones,  when,  suddenly, 


142  WILD  YOUTH 

the  spirit  of  death  touched  his  senses,  and  his  heart  stood 
still  for  an  instant. 

As  he  looked  at  the  motionless  figure,  he  was  only 
subconsciously  aware  of  the  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  coming 
down  one  of  the  side  trails.  Springing  to  the  ground, 
he  approached  Mazarine's  wagon. 

The  horses  neighed;  it  was  a  curious,  lonely  sound. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  wheel  looking 
at  the  still  figure;  then  he  reached  out  and  touched 
Mazarine's  knee. 

"  Hi,  there !  "  he  said. 

There  was  no  reply.  He  mounted  the  wagon,  touched 
the  dead  man's  shoulder,  and  then,  with  one  hand,  loos- 
ened the  waistcoat  and  felt  the  heart.  It  was  still.  He 
examined  the  body.  There  was  no  wound.  He  peered 
into  the  face,  and  saw  the  distortion  there. 

"  Dead — dead !  "  he  said  in  an  awed  voice. 

The  husband  of  Louise  was  dead.  How  he  died,  in 
one  sense,  did  not  matter.  Louise's  husband  was  dead; 
he  would  torture  her  no  more.  Louise  was  free ! 

Slowly  he  got  down  from  the  wagon,  vaguely  won- 
dering what  to  do,  so  had  the  tragedy  confused  his  brain 
for  the  moment.  As  he  did  so,  he  was  conscious  of  an- 
other wagon  and  horses  a  few  yards  away. 

"Who  goes  there?"  called  the  voice  of  the  new- 
comer. 

"A  friend,"  answered  Orlando  mechanically. 

Presently  the  newcomer  sprang  down  from  his  wagon 
and  came  over  to  Orlando. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Guise?"  he  asked.  "Whafs  the 
trouble?  .  .  .  Who's  that?"  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
dead  body. 


AT  THE  CROSS  TRAILS  143 

"  It's  Mazarine.  He's  dead,"  answered  Orlando 
quietly. 

"  Oh,  good  God !  "  said  the  other. 

He  was  an  insurance  agent  of  the  town  of  Askatoon, 
who,  that  very  evening,  had  heard  Orlando  threaten  the 
Master  of  Tralee — that  if  ever  he  passed  him  or  met  him, 
and  Mazarine  did  not  get  out  of  the  way,  it  would  be  the 
worse  for  him.  Well,  here  in  the  trail  were  Orlando  and 
Mazarine — and  Mazarine  was  dead! 

"  Good  God !  "  the  newcomer  repeated.  Scarsdale  was 
his  name. 

Then  Orlando  explained.  "  It's  not  what  you  think," 
he  said.  Then  he  told  the  story — such  as  there  was  to 
tell — of  what  had  happened  during  the  last  few  moments. 

Scarsdale  climbed  up  into  the  wagon,  struck  a  light, 
looked  at  the  body  of  Mazarine,  at  his  face,  and  then 
lifted  up  the  beard  and  examined  the  neck.  There  were 
finger-marks  in  the  flesh. 

"  So,  that's  it,"  he  said.  "  Strangled !  He  seems  to 
have  took  it  easy,  sittin'  there  like  that,"  he  added  as  he 
climbed  down. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  remarked  Orlando.  "  As  you 
say,  it's  weird,  his  sitting  there  like  that  with  the  reins 
in  his  hands.  I  don't  understand  it !  " 

"  I  saw  you  getting  down  from  the  wagon,"  remarked 
Scarsdale  meaningly. 

"Say,  do  you  really  believe — — ?"  began  Orlando 
without  agitation,  but  with  a  sudden  sense  of  his  own  false 
position. 

"  It  ain't  a  matter  of  belief,"  the  other  declared.  "  If 
there's  an  inquest,  I've  got  to  tell  what  I've  seen.  You 
know  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  That's  all  right,"  replied  Orlando.    "  You've  got  to 


144  WILD  YOUTH 

tell  what  you've  seen,  and  so  have  I.  I  guess  the  truth 
will  out.  Come,  let's  move  him  on  to  Tralee.  We'll  lay 
him  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  and  I'll  lead  his 
horses  with  a  halter.  .  .  .  No,"  he  added,  changing  his 
mind,  "  you  lead  my  horses,  and  I'll  drive  him  home." 

A  moment  af  tenvards,  as  the  procession  made  its  way 
to  Tralee,  Scarsdale  said  to  himself : 

"  He  must  have  nerves  like  iron  to  drive  Mazarine 
home,  if  he  killed  him.  Well,  he's  got  them,  and  still  they 
call  him  Giggles  as  if  he  was  a  silly  girl !  '* 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  SUPERIOR  MAN 

STUDENTS  of  life  have  noticed  constantly  that  moral 
distinctions  are  not  matters  of  principle  but  of  certain 
peremptory  rules  founded  on  nice  calculations  of  the 
social  mind.  In  the  field  of  crime,  responsibility  is  most 
often  calculated,  not  upon  the  crime  itself,  but  upon  how 
the  thing  is  done. 

In  Askatoon,  no  one  would  have  been  greatly  shocked 
if,  when  Orlando  Guise  and  Joel  Mazarine  met  at  the  rail- 
way-station or  in  the  main  street,  Orlando  had  killed 
Mazarine. 

Mazarine  would  have  been  dead  in  either  case;  and 
he  would  have  been  killed  by  another  hand  in  either  case ; 
but  the  attitude  of  the  public  would  not  have  been  the 
same  in  either  case.  The  public  would  have  considered 
the  killing  of  Mazarine  before  the  eyes  of  the  world 
justifiable  homicide;  its  dislike  of  the  man  would  have 
induced  it  to  add  the  word  justifiable. 

But  that  Joel  Mazarine  should  be  killed  by  night  with- 
out an  audience,  secretly — however  righteously — shocked 
the  people  of  Askatoon. 

Had  they  seen  the  thing  done,  there  would  have  been 
sensation,  but  no  mystery;  but  night,  secrecy,  distance, 
mystery,  all  begot,  not  a  reaction  in  Mazarine's  favor, 
but  a  protest  against  the  thing  being  done  under  cover, 
as  it  were,  unhelped  by  popular  observation.  Also,  to 
the  Askatoon  mind,  that  one  man  should  kill  another  in 
open  quarrel  was  courageous — or  might  be  courageous 
10  145 


146  WILD  YOUTH 

— but  for  one  man  to  kill  another,  whoever  that  other 
\vas,  in  a  hidden  way,  was  a  barbarous  business. 

It  seemed  impossible  to  have  any  doubt  as  to  who 
killed  the  man,  though  Orlando  had  not  waited  a  moment 
after  the  body  had  been  brought  to  Tralee,  but  had  gone 
straight  to  the  police,  and  told  what  had  happened,  so 
far  as  he  knew  it.  He  stated  the  exact  facts. 

The  insurance  man,  Scarsdale,  would  not  open  his 
mouth  until  the  inquest,  which  took  place  on  the  after- 
noon after  the  crime  had  been  committed.  It  was  held 
at  Tralee.  Great  crowds  surrounded  the  house,  but  only 
a  few  found  entrance  to  the  inquest  room. 

Immediately  on  opening  the  inquest,  Orlando  was 
called  to  tell  his  story.  Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  him 
intently ;  every  ear  was  strained  as  he  described  his  coming 
upon  the  isolated  wagon  and  the  dead  man  with  the  reins 
in  his  hands.  It  is  hard  to  say  if  all  believed  his  story, 
but  the  coroner  did,  and  Burlingame,  his  lawyer,  also  did. 

Burlingame  was  present,  not  to  defend  Orlando,  be- 
cause it  was  not  a  trial,  but  to  watch  his  interests  in  the 
face  of  staggering  circumstantial  evidence.  To  Burlin- 
game's  mind  Orlando  was  not  the  man  to  kill  another 
by  strangling  him  to  death.  It  was  not  in  keeping  with  his 
character.  It  was  too  aboriginal. 

The  coroner  believed  the  story  solely  because  Or- 
lando's frankness  and  straightforwardness  filled  him  with 
confidence.  Also  men  of  rude  sense,  like  Jonas  Billings, 
were  willing  to  take  bets,  five  to  one,  that  Orlando  was 
innocent. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  not  an  instant's  doubt,  but  he 
could  not  at  first  fix  his  suspicions  in  a  likely  quarter. 
He  had  examined  the  body,  and  there  were  no  marks  save 
bruises  at  the  throat.  In  his  evidence  he  said  that  enor- 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  147 

mous  strength  of  hands  had  been  necessary  to  kill  so 
quickly,  for  it  was  clear  the  attack  was  so  overpowering 
that  there  was  little  struggle. 

The  coroner  here  interposed  a  question  as  to  whether 
it  would  have  been  possible  for  anyone  but  a  man  to  com- 
mit the  crime.  At  his  words  everybody  moved  impatiently. 
It  was  certain  he  was  referring  to  the  absent  wife.  The 
idea  of  Louise  committing  such  a  crime,  or  being  able  to 
commit  it,  was  ridiculous.  The  coroner  presently  stated 
that  he  had  only  asked  the  question  so  as  to  remove  this 
possibility  from  consideration. 

The  Young  Doctor  immediately  said  that  probably  no 
woman  in  the  hemisphere  could  have  committed  the  crime, 
which  required  enormous  strength  of  hands. 

The  coroner  looked  round  the  room.  "  The  widow, 
Mrs.  Mazarine,  is  not  here  ?  "  he  said  questioningly. 

Nolan  Doyle  interposed.  "Mrs.  Mazarine  is  at  my 
ranch/'  he  said.  "  She  came  there  yesterday  evening  at 
eight  o'clock  and  remained  in  the  presence  of  my  wife  and 
myself  until  twelve  o'clock.  The  murder  was  committed 
before  twelve  o'clock.  Mrs.  Mazarine  knows  nothing  of 
the  crime.  She  does  not  even  know  that  her  husband  is 
dead.  She  is  not  well  to-day,  and  we  have  kept  the 
knowledge  from  her." 

"Is  she  under  medical  care?"  asked  the  coroner. 

Nolan  Doyle  nodded  towards  the  Young  Doctor,  who 
said :  "  I  saw  Mrs.  Mazarine  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Doyle 
last  evening  between  the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  o'clock. 
To-day  at  noon  also  I  visited  her.  She  has  a  slight  illness, 
and  she  is  not  fit  to  take  part  in  these  proceedings." 

At  this  point,  Scarsdale,  who  had  come  upon  Orlando 
and  the  dead  man  at  the  cross  trails  the  night  before, 
told  his  story.  He  did  it  with  evident  reluctance. 


148  WILD  YOUTH 

He  spoke  with  hesitation,  yet  firmly  and  straightfor- 
wardly. He  described  how  he  saw  Orlando  climb  down 
from  the  wagon  where  the  dead  man  was.  He  added, 
however,  that  he  had  seen  no  struggle  of  any  kind,  though 
he  had  seen  Orlando  close  to  the  corpse.  Questioned  by 
a  juror,  he  described  the  scenes  between  Orlando  and 
Mazarine  in  the  main  street  of  Askatoon  and  at  the 
railway  station,  both  of  which  he  had  seen.  He  repeated 
Orlando's  threat  to  Mazarine. 

He  was  pressed  as  to  whether  Orlando  showed  agi- 
tation at  the  cross  trails.  He  replied  that  Orlando 
seemed  stunned  but  not  agitated. 

He  was  asked  whether  Orlando  had  shown  the  greater 
agitation  at  the  cross  trails  or  in  the  town  when  he  threat- 
ened -.vlazarine.  The  answer  was  that  he  showed  agitation 
only  in  the  town.  He  was  asked  to  repeat  what  Orlando 
had  said  to  him.  This  he  did  accurately. 

He  was  then  asked  by  a  juror  whether  he  had  arrived 
at  any  conclusion,  when  at  the  cross  trails  or  afterwards, 
as  to  who  committed  the  crime;  but  the  coroner  would 
not  permit  the  question.  The  coroner  added  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  witness  to  state  only  what  he  had  seen. 
Opinions  were  not  permissible  as  evidence.  The  facts 
were  in  possession  of  the  court,  and  the  court  could  form 
its  own  judgment. 

It  was  clear  to  everyone  at  this  moment  that  the  jury 
must  return  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder,  and  it  was  equally 
clear  that  the  evidence  was  sufficient  to  fix  suspicion  upon 
Orlando,  which  must  lead  to  his  arrest.  Two  constables 
were  in  close  attendance,  and  were  ready  to  take  charge 
of  the  man  who,  above  all  others,  or  so  it  was  thought, 
had  most  reason  to  wish  Mazarine  out  of  the  way.  Indeed, 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  149 

Orlando  had  resigned  himself  to  the  situation,  having 
realized  how  all  the  evidence  was  against  him. 

Recalling  Orlando,  the  coroner  asked  if  it  was  the  case 
that  the  death  of  Mazarine  might  be  an  advantage  to  him 
in  any  way.  Orlando  replied  that  it  might  be  an  advan- 
tage to  him,  but  he  was  not  sure.  He  added,  however,  that 
if,  as  the  coroner  seemed  to  suggest,  he  himself  was 
under  suspicion,  it  ought  to  appear  to  all  that  to  have 
murdered  Mazarine  in  the  circumstances  would  have 
put  in  jeopardy  any  possible  advantage.  That  seemed, 
logical  enough,  but  it  was  presently  pointed  out  to  the 
coroner  that  the  same  consideration  had  existed  when 
Orlando  had  threatened  Mazarine  in  the  streets  of 
Askatoon. 

Presently  the  coroner  said :  "  There's  a  half,.*)reed 
woman  and  a  Chinaman,  servants  of  the  late  Mr.  Mazarine. 
Have  the  woman  called." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  Young  Doctor  and 
Orlando  also  were  suddenly  seized  with  a  suspicion  of 
their  own.  Orlando  remembered  how  Mazarine  had 
horsewhipped  and  maltreated  Li  Choo.  The  Young  Doc- 
tor fixed  his  eyes  intently  on  the  body,  and  presently  went 
to  it  again,  raised  the  beard  and  looked  at  the  neck. 
Coming  back  to  his  place,  he  nodded  to  himself.  He  had 
a  clue.  Now  he  understood  about  the  enormous  strength 
which  had  killed  Mazarine  practically  without  a  struggle. 
He  had  noticed  more  than  once  the  sinewy  fingers  of  the 
Chinaman.  As  the  inquest  went  on,  he  had  again  and 
again  looked  at  the  hands  and  arms  of  Orlando,  and  it 
had  seemed  impossible  that,  strong  as  he  was,  his  fingers 
had  the  particular  strength  which  could  have  done  this 
thing. 

The  coroner  stood  waiting  for  Rada  to  come,  when 


150  WILD  YOUTH 

suddenly  the  door  opened  and  a  Chinaman  entered— one 
of  the  two  who  had  appeared  so  strangely  on  the  scene 
the  day  before.  He  advanced  to  the  coroner  with  both 
hands  loosely  hanging  in  the  great  sleeves  of  his  blue 
padded  coat,  his  eyes  blinking  slowly  underneath  the 
brown  forehead  and  the  little  black  skull-cap,  and  in 
curious,  monotonous  English  with  a  quaint  accent  he 
said: 

"  Li  Choo — Li  Choo — he  speak.  He  have  to  say.  He 
send." 

Holding  up  a  piece  of  paper,  he  handed  it  to  the 
coroner  and  then  stood  blinking  and  immobile. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  the  coroner  said :  "  I  have 
received  this  note  from  Li  Choo  the  Chinaman,  sometime 
employed  by  the  deceased  Joel  Mazarine.  I  will  read  it 
to  the  court."  Slowly  he  read : 

"  I  say  gloddam.  That  Orlando  he  not  kill  Mazaline. 
I  say  gloddam  Mazaline.  That  Mazaline  he  Chlistian. 
He  says  Chlist  his  brother.  Chlist  not  save  him  when  Li 
Choo's  fingers  had  Mazaline's  throat.  That  gloddam 
Mazaline  I  kill.  That  Mazaline  kicked  me,  hit  me  with 
whip ;  where  he  kick,  I  sick  all  time.  I  not  sleep  no  more 
since  that  time.  That  Louise,  it  no  good  she  stay  with 
Mazaline.  Confucius  speak  like  this :  '  Young  woman  go 
to  young  man;  young  bird  is  for  green  leaves,  not  dry 
branch.'  That  Louise  good  woman ;  that  Orlando  hell- 
fellow  good.  I  kill  Mazaline — gloddam,  with  my  hands  I 
kill.  You  want  know  all  why  Li  Choo  kill  ?  You  want 
kill  Li  Choo  ?  You  come !  " 

As  the  coroner  stopped  reading,  amid  gasps  of  ex- 
citement, the  Chinaman  who  had  brought  the  note — with 
•brown  skin  polished  like  a  kettle,  expressionless,  save 
for  the  twinkling  mystery  of  the  brown  eyes — made  three 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  151 

motions-  of  obeisance  up  and  down  with  his  hands  clasped 
in  the  great  sleeves,  and  then  said: 

"  He  not  come  you ;  you  come  him.  He  gleat  man. 
He  speak  all — come.  I  show  where." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  the  coroner. 

The  Chinaman  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
said :  "  He  saclifice  before  you  take  him.  He  gleat  man. 
— come."  He  slip-slopped  towards  the  door  as  though 
•confident  he  would  be  followed. 

Two  minutes  afterwards  the  coroner,  Orlando,  the 
Young  Doctor,  Nolan  Doyle  and  the  rest  stood  at  the  low 
doorway  of  what  looked  like  a  great  grave.  It  was, 
however,  a  big  root-house  used  for  storing  vegetables  in 
the  winter  time.  It  had  not  been  used  since  Mazarine 
arrived  at  Tralee.  Into  this  place,  nor  far  from  the 
house,  Li  Choo  and  his  two  fellow  countrymen  had  gone 
the  day  before,  when  Mazarine,  in  his  rage,  had  come 
forth  with  the  horsewhip  to  punish  the  "  Chinky,"  as 
Li  Choo  was  familiarly  known  on  the  ranch. 

As  they  arrived  at  the  vault-like  place  in  the  ground, 
which  would  hold  many  tons  of  roots,  another  Chinaman 
came  to  the  doorway.  He  was  one  of  the  two  who,  in. 
their  sudden  coming  and  going,  had  seemed  like  magic 
people  to  Mazarine  the  day  before.  He  made  upward 
and  downward  motions  of  respect  with  clasped  hands 
in  the  blue  sleeves,  and  presently,  in  perfect  English,  he 
said: 

"  In  one  minute  Li  Choo  will  receive  you.  It  is  the 
moment  of  sacrifice.  You  wish  him  to  die  for  the  death 
of  Mazarine.  So  be  it.  It  is  right  for  him  to  die.  You 
will  hang  him;  that  is  your  law.  He  will  not  prevent 
you.  He  has  told  the  truth,  but  he  is  making  the  sacrifice. 
When  that  is  done  you  will  enter  and  take  him  to  prison." 


152  WILD  YOUTH 

The  two  constables  standing  beside  the  coroner  made 
a  move  forward  as  though  to  show  they  meant  to  enforce 
the  law  without  any  palaver. 

The  Chinaman  raised  the  palms  of  both  hands  at  them. 
"  Not  yet,"  he  said.  Then  he  looked  at  the  coroner. 
"You  are  master.  Will  you  not  prevent  them?"  he 
asked. 

The  coroner  motioned  the  constables  back.  "  All 
right,"  he  said.  "  You  seem  to  speak  good  English." 

"  I  come  from  England — from  Oxford  University," 
answered  th*e  Chinaman  with  dignity.  "  I  have  learned 
English  for  many  years.  I  am  the  son  of  Duke  Ki.  I 
came  to  see  my  uncle,  the  brother  of  Duke  Ki.  He  is 
making  sacrifice  before  you  take  him." 

"  Well,  I'm  blasted,"  said  Jonas  Billings  from  the 
crowd.  "Chinese  dukes,  eh!  What's  it  all  about?" 

"  Reg'lar  hocus-pocus,"  remarked  the  vagabond 
brother  of  Rigby  the  chemist. 

At  that  moment  little  colored  lights  suddenly  showed 
in  the  darkness  of  the  root-house,  and  there  was  the 
tinkling  of  a  bell.  Then  a  voice  seemed  calling,  but 
softly,  with  a  long,  monotonous,  thrilling  note. 

"  Many  may  not  come,"  said  the  Chinaman  at  the  door 
to  the  coroner,  as  he  turned  and  entered  the  low  doorway. 

A  minute  afterwards  the  two  constables  held  back  the 
crowd  from  the  doorway  of  the  root-house,  from  the 
threshold  of  which  a  few  wooden  steps  descended  to  the 
ground  inside. 

A  strange  sight  greeted  the  eyes  of  those  permitted 
to  enter. 

The  root-house  had  been  transformed.  What  had  been 
a  semi-underground  place  composed  of  scantlings, 
branches  of  trees  and  mother  earth,  with  a  kind  of 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  153 

vaulted  roof,  "had  been  made  into  a  sort  of  Chinese  tem- 
ple. All  round  the  walls  were  hung  curtains  of  black 
and  yellow,  decorated  with  dragons  in  gold,  and  above, 
suspended  by  cords  at  the  four  corners,  was  a  rug  or 
banner  of  white  ornamented  with  a  great  tortoise — the 
sacred  animal  of  Chinese  religion — with  gold  eyes  and 
claws.  All  round  the  sides  of  the  room  were  set  colored 
lights,  shaded  and  dim.  Coming  from  the  bright  outer 
sunlight,  the  place  in  its  shadowed  state  seemed  half- 
sepulchrai. 

When  the  coroner,  Orlando,  the  Young  Doctor  and  the 
others  had  accustomed  themselves  to  the  dimness,  they 
saw  at  the  end  of  the  chamber — for  such,  in  effect,  it  had 
been  made  with  its  trappings  and  decorations — a  figure 
seated  upon  the  ground.  Near  by  the  figure,  on  either 
hand,  there  were  standards  bearing  banners,  and  the 
staffs  holding  the  banners  were  bound  in  white  silk,  with 
long  streamers  hanging  down.  Hialf  enclosing  the  banners 
were  fanlike  screens.  Along  the  walls  also  were  flags 
with  toothed  edges.  The  figure  was  seated  on  a  mat  of 
fine  bamboo  in  the  midst  of  this  strange  scheme  of  decora- 
tion. Behind  him,  and  drawn  straight  across  the  chamber, 
was  a  sheet  of  fine  white  cloth,  embroidered  with  strange 
designs.  He  was  clothed  in  a  rich  jacket  of  blue,  and  a 
pair  of  sandal-like  shoes  was  placed  neatly  in  front  of  the 
bamboo  mat.  On  either  side  and  in  front  of  all,  raised  a 
little  from  the  ground,  were  bowls  or  calabashes  contain- 
ing fruit,  grain  and  dried  and  pickled  meats.  It  was  all 
orderly,  circumspect,  weird  and  even  stately,  though  the 
place  was  small.  Finally,  in  front  of  the  motionless  figure, 
was  a  tiny  brazier  in  which  was  a  small  fire. 

Before  the  spectators  had  taken  in  the  whole  picture, 
the  Chinaman  who  had  entered  with  them  came  and  stood 
on  the  right  of  the  space  occupied  by  the  mat,  near  to  the 


154  WILD  YOUTH 

banners  and  the  screens,  and  under  a  yellow  light  which 
hung  from  the  vaulted  roof. 

The  figure  on  the  fine  bamboo  mat  was  Li  Choo,  but 
not  the  Li  Choo  which  Tralee  and  Askatoon  had  known. 
He  was  seated  with  legs  crossed  in  Oriental  fashion  and 
with  head  slightly  bowed.  His  face  was  calm  and  digni- 
fied. It  had  an  impassiveness  which  made  an  intermin- 
able distance  between  him  and  those  who  had  till  now 
looked  upon  him  as  a  poor  Chinky,  doing  a  roustabout's 
work  on  a  ranch,  the  handy-man,  the  Jack-of-all-trades. 
(Yet  in  spite  of  the  menial  work  which  he  had  done, 
it  was  now  to  be  seen  that  the  despised  Li  Choo  had  still 
lived  his  own  life,  removed  by  centuries  and  innumerable 
leagues  from  his  daily  slaver}'. 

As  they  looked  at  him,  brooding,  immobile,  strange, 
he  lifted  his  head,  and  the  excessive  brightness  of  his 
black  eyes  struck  with  a  sense  of  awe  all  who  saw.  It 
was  absurd  that  Li  Choo,  the  hireling,  "  Yellow-phiz," 
as  he  had  also  been  called,  should  here  command  a  situation 
with  the  authority  of  one  who  ruled. 

Presently  he  spoke,  not  in  broken  English,  but  in 
Chinese.  It  was  interpreted  by  the  Chinaman  standing  on 
the  right  by  the  screens,  in  well  cadenced,  cultured  English. 

"  I  have  to  tell  you,"  said  Li  Choo — the  other's  voice 
repeated  the  words  after  him — "that  I  am  the  son  of 
greatness,  of  a  ruler  in  my  own  land.  It  was  by  the 
Yang-tze-kiang,  and  there  were  riches  and  pleasant  things 
in  the  days  of  my  youth.  In  the  hunt,  at  the  tavern,  I 
was  first  amongst  them  all.  I  had  great  strength.  I 
once  killed  a  bear  with  my  bare  hands.  My  hands  had 
fame. 

"  I  had  office  in  the  city  where  my  cousin  ruled.  He 
was  a  bad  man,  and  was  soon  forgotten,  though  his  chil- 
dren mourn  for  him  as  is  the  custom.  I  killed  him.  He 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  155 

gave  counsel  concerning  the  city  when  there  was  war, 
but  his  counsel  was  that  of  a  traitor,  and  the  city  was 
lost  Now  behold,  it  is  written  that  he  who  has  given 
counsel  about  the  country  or  its  capital  should  perish  with 
it  when  it  comes  into  peril.  He  would  not  die — so  I  killed 
him;  but  not  before  he  had  heaped  upon  me  baseness  and 
shame.  So  I  killed  him. 

"  Yet  it  is  written  that  when  a  minister  kills  his  ruler, 
all  who  are  in  office  with  him  shall  without  mercy  kill 
him  who  did  the  deed.  That  is  the  law.  It  was  the  word 
of  the  Son  of  Heaven  that  this  should  be.  But  those 
who  were  in  office  with  me  would  not  kill  me,  because  they 
approved  of  what  I  did.  Yet  they  must  kill  me,  since  it 
was  the  law.  What  was  there  to  do  but  in  the  night  to 
flee,  so  that  they  who  should  kill  me  might  not  obey  the 
law?  Had  I  remained,  and  they  had  not  obeyed  the 
law,  they  also  would  have  been  slain." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  went  on :  "  So  I 
fled,  and  it  is  many  years  since  by  the  Yang-tze-kiang  I 
killed  my  ruler  and  saved  my  friends.  Yet  I  had  not 
been  faithful  to  the  ancient  law,  and  so  through  the  long 
years  I  have  done  low  work  among  a  low  people.  This 
was  for  atonement,  for  long  ago  by  the  Yang-tze-kiang  I 
should  have  died,  and  behold,  I  have  lived  until  now. 
To  save  my  friends  from  the  pain  of  killing  me  I  fled  and 
lived;  but  at  last  here  at  this  place  I  said  to  myself 
that  I  must  die.  So,  secretly,  I  made  this  cellar  into 
a  temple. 

"  That  was  a  year  ago,  and  I  sent  to  my  brother  the 
Duke  Ki  to  speak  to  him  what  was  in  my  mind,  so  that 
he  might  send  my  kinsmen  to  me,  that  when  I  came  to 
die  it  should  be  after  the  manner  ordained  by  the  Son 
of  Heaven ;  that  my  body  should  be  clothed  according  to 
the  ancient  rites  by  my  own  people,  my  mouth  filled  with 


156  WILD  YOUTH 

rice,  and  the  meats  and  grains  and  fruits  of  sacrifice 
be  placed  on  a  mat  at  the  east  of  my  body  when  I  died ; 
that  the  curtain  should  be  hung  before  my  corpse;  that  I 
should  be  laid  upon  a  mat  of  fine  bamboo,  and  dressed,  and 
prepared  for  my  grave,  and  put  into  a  noble  coffin  as 
becomes  a  superior  man.  Did  not  the  Son  of  Heaven 
say  that  we  speak  of  the  end  of  a  superior  man,  but  we 
speak  of  the  death  of  a  small  man?  I  was  a  superior 
man,  but  I  have  lived  as  a  small  man  these  many  days ; 
and  now,  behold,  I  am  drawing  near  to  my  end  as  a 
superior  man. 

"  I  wished  that  nothing  should  be  forgotten ;  that  all 
should  be  done  when  I,  of  the  house  of  the  Duke  Ki,  came 
to  my  superior  end.  So  these  my  kinsmen  came,  these 
of  my  family,  to  be  with  me  at  my  going,  to  call  my  spirit 
back  from  the  roof-top  with  face  turned  to  1%e  north,  to 
leap  before  my  death-mat,  to  wail  and  bare  the  shoulders 
and  bind  the  sackcloth  about  the  head. 

"  I  have  served  among  the  low  people  doing  low  things, 
and  now  I  would  die,  but  in  the  correct  way.  Once  to  the 
listeners  Confucius  said :  '  The  great  mountain  must 
crumble;  the  strong -beam  must  break;  the  wise  man 
must  wither  away  like  a  plant/  So  it  is.  It  is  my  duty 
to  go  to  my  end,  for  the  time  is  far  spent,  and  I  should 
do  what  my  friends  must  have  done  had  I  stayed  in  my 
ancestral  city." 

Again  he  paused,  and  now  he  rocked  his  body  back- 
wards and  forwards  for  a  moment;  then  presently  he 
continued :  "  Yet  I  would  not  go  without  doing  good. 
There  should  be  some  act  among  the  low  people  by  which 
I  should  be  remembered.  So,  once  again,  I  killed  a  man. 
He  could  not  withstand  the  strength  of  my  fingers — they 
were  like  steel  upon  his  throat.  As  a  young  man  my  fin- 
gers were  like  those  of  three  men. 


THE  SUPERIOR  MAN  157 

"  Shall  a  man  treat  his  wife  as  she,  Louise,  was 
treated?  Shall  a  man  raise  his  hand  against  his  wife,  and 
live  ?  Also,  was  'he  to  live — the  low  man — that  struck  a 
high  man  like  me  with  his  hands,  with  the  whip,  with  his 
feet,  stamping  upon  me  on  the  ground  ?  Was  that  to  be, 
and  he  live?  Were  the  young  that  should  have  but  one 
nest  to  be  parted,  to  have  only  sorrow,  if  Joel  lived? 
So  I  killed  him  with  my  hands  "  (he  slightly  raised  his 
clasped  hands,  as  though  to  emphasize  what  he  said,  but 
the  gesture  was  grave  and  quiet)  "  — so  I  killed  him,  and 
so  I  must  die. 

"  It  was  the  duty  of  my  friends  to  kill  me  by  the 
Yang-tze-kiang.  It  is  your  duty,  you  of  the  low  people, 
to  kill  me  who  has  killed  a  low  man ;  but  my  friends  by 
the  Yang-tze-kiang  were  glad  that  the  ruler  died,  and  you 
of  the  low^  people  are  glad  that  Joel  is  dead.  Yet  it  is 
your  "duty  to  kill  me.  .  .  .  But  it  shall  not  be." 

He  quickly  reached  out  his  hands  and  drew  the  burn- 
ing brazier  close  to  his  feet ;  then,  suddenly,  from  a  sleeve 
of  his  robe  he  took  a  little  box  of  the  sacred  tortoise-shell, 
pressed  his  lips  to  it,  opened  it,  poured  its  contents  upon 
the  flame,  leaned  over  with  his  face  close  to  the  brazier 
and  inhaled  the  little  puff  of  smoke  that  came  from  it. 

So  for  a  few  seconds — and  then  he  raised  himself  and 
sat  still  with  eyes  closed  and  hands  clasped  in  his  long 
sleeves.  Presently  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 

A  pungent  smell  passed  through  the  chamber.  It 
produced  for  the  moment  dizziness  in  all  present.  Then 
the  sensation  cleared  away.  The  Chinaman  at  the  right 
of  Li  Choo  looked  steadfastly  at  him ;  then,  all  at  once, 
he  bared  his  shoulders  and  quickly  bound  a  piece  of  sack- 
cloth round  his  head.  This  done,  he  raised  his  voice  and 
cried  out  with  a  curious,  monotonous  ululation,  and  at 
once  a  second  voice  cried  out  in  a  long  wailing  call. 


158  WILD  YOUTH 

Outside  Li  Choo's  kinsman,  with  his  face  turned  to 
the  north,  was  calling  his  spirit  back,  though  ke  knew  it 
would  not  come. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  voice  crying  outside,  the 
Chinaman  besdde  Li  Choo  leaped  thrice  in  front  of  the 
brazier,  the  mat  and  the  motionless  body. 

At  that  moment  the  Young  Doctor  came  forward. 
He  who  had  leaped  stood  between  him  and  the  body  of 
Li  Choo. 

"  You  must  not  come.  Li  Choo,  the  superior  man,  is 
dead,"  he  protested. 

"  I  am  a  doctor,"  was  the  reply.  "  If  he  is  dead,  the 
law  will  not  touch  him,  and  you  shall  be  alone  with  him, 
but  the  law  must  know  that  he  is  dead.  That  is  the 
way  that  prevails  among  the  '  low  people/  "  he  added 
ironically. 

The  Chinaman  stood  aside,  and  the  Young  Doctor 
stooped,  felt  the  pulse,  touched  the  heart  and  lifted  up 
the  head  and  looked  into  Li  Choo's  sightless  eyes. 

"  He  is  dead,"  he  said,  and  he  came  back  again  to  the 
coroner  and  the  others.  "  Let's  get  out  of  this,"  he  added. 
"  He  is  beyond  our  reach  now.  No  need  for  an  inquest 
here.  He  has  killed  himself."  Then  he  caught  Orlando's 
hand  in  a  warm  grip. 

As  they  left  the  chamber,  the  kinsman  of  Li  Choo  was 
gently  laying  the  body  down  upon  the  bamboo  mat.  At 
the  doorway  the  other  son  of  the  Duke  Ki  was  still  mo- 
notonously calling  back  the  departed  spirit.  .  .  . 

The  inquest  on  Joel  Mazarine  was  ended  presently,  and 
Nolan  Doyle  and  the  Young  Doctor  set  out  to  tell  Louise 
that  a  "low  man,"  once  her  husband,  had  paid  a  high 
price  for  all  that  he  had  bought  of  the  fruits  of  life  out  of 
due  season. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
YOUTH  HAS  ITS  WAY 

"  Aw,  Doctor  dear,  there's  manny  that's  less  use  in  the 
wurruld  than  Chinamen,  and  I'd  like  to  see  more  o'  them 
here-away,"  remarked  Patsy  Kernaghan  to  the  Young 
Doctor  in  the  springtime  of  another  year.  "  Stren'th  of 
mind  is  all  right,  but  stren'th  of  fingers  is  better  still." 

"  You're  a  bloodthirsty  pagan,  Patsy,"  returned  the 
Young  Doctor. 

"Hell  to  me  sowl,  then,  didn't  Li  Choo  pull  things 
straight?  I'm  not  much  of  a  murd'ring  man  meself — I 
haven't  the  stren'th  with  me  fingers,  but  there's  manny 
a  time  I'd  like  to  do  what  Li  Choo  done.  .  .  .  Shure, 
I  don't  want  to  be  sp'akin'  ill  of  the  dead,  but  look  at 
it  now.  There  was  ould  Mazarine,  breakin'  the  poor 
child's  heart,  as  fine  a  fella  as  iver  trod  the  wurruld  achin' 
for  her,  and  his  life  bein'  spoilt  by  the  goin's  on  at  Tralee. 
Then  in  steps  the  Chinky  and  with  stren'th  of  mind  and 
stren'th  of  fingers  puts  things  right." 

"  No,  no,  Patsy,  you've  got  bad  logic  and  worse  morals 
in  your  head.  As  you  say,  things  were  put  right,  but 
trouble  enough  came  of  it." 

"  Divils  me  darlin',  Doctor,  it  was  bound  to  come  all 
right  some  time.  Shure,  wasn't  it  natural  the  child 
should  be  all  crumpled  up  like  and  lose  her  head  for  a 
while  ?  Wasn't  it  natural  she  should  fight  out  agin'  takin' 
the  property  the  leviathan  left  her,  whin  she  knew  there 
was  another  will  he'd  spoke  on  a  paper  to  the  lawyer  the 
night  he  died,  though  he  hadn't  signed  it?  And  isn't  it 
so  that  yourself  it  was  talked  her  round !  " 

1 59 


160  WILD  YOUTH 

The  Young  Doctor  waved  a  hand  reprovingly,  but 
Patsy  continued: 

"  Now,  lookin'  back  on  it,  don't  ye  think  it  was  clever 
enough  what  you  said  till  her?  'Do  justice  to  yourself 
and  to  others,  little  lady/  sez  you.  *  Be  just — divide  vhe 
place  up;  give  two-thirds  of  it  away  to  the  children  of 
Joel's  first  two  wives  and  keep  one-third,  which  is  yours 
by  law  in  anny  case.  For  why  should  it  be  ths,  you 
should  give  iverythin'  and  get  nothin'?  He  had  the 
best  of  you — of  your  girlhood  and  your  youth/  sez  you. 
'  Shure  y'are  entitled  to  bread  and  meat,  and  a  roof  over 
you,  as  a  wife,  and  as  one  that  got  nothin'  from  your 
married  life  of  what  ought  to  be  got  by  honest  girls  like 
you,  or  by  anny  woman,  if  it  comes  to  that/  sez  you. 
Aw,  shure  then,  I  know  you  said  it,  because,  didn't  she 
tell  it  all  to  Norah  Doyle,  and  didn't  Norah  tell  Nolan, 
and  me  sittin'  by  and  glad  enough  that  the  cleverest  man 
betune  here  and  the  other  side  of  the  wurruld  talked  her 
round!  Aw,  how  you  talk,  y'r  anner!  Shure,  isn't  it 
the  wonder  that  you  don't  talk  the  dead  back  to  the  wurruld 
out  of  which  you  help  them?  I  might  ha'  been  a  great 
man  meself  " — he  grinned — "  if  I'd  had  your  eddication, 
but  here  I  am,  a  '  low  man/  as  Li  Choo  said,  takin'  me 
place  simple  as  a  babe." 

"  Patsy,  you  save  my  life,"  remarked  the  Young 
Doctor.  "  You  save  my  life  daily.  That's  why  I'm  glad 
you're  getting  a  good  home  at  last." 

"  At  Slow  Down  Ranch,  with  her  that's  to  be  its  queen ! 
Well,  isn't  that  like  her  to  be  thinkin'  of  others?  As 
a  rule  the  rich  is  so  busy  lookin'  afther  what  they've  got 
that  they're  not  worryin'  about  the  poor ;  but  she  thought 
of  me,  didn't  she?" 

The  Young  Doctor  nodded,  and  Patsy  pursued  his  tale. 


YOUTH  HAS  ITS  WAY  161 

"  Haven't  I  see  her  day  in,  day  out,  at  Nolan  Doyle's 
ranchi  and  don't  I  imderstan'  why  it  is  she's  not  set  foot  in 
Tralee  since  the  ould  one  left  it  feet  foremost,  for  his 
new  seven- foot  home,  housed  an  a  bit  of  wood — him  that 
had  had  the  run  of  the  wurruld?  She'll  set  no  foot  in 
Tralee  at  all  anny  time,  if  she  can  help  it — that's  the 
breed  of  her. 

"  Well,  it  is  as  it  is,  and  what's  goin'  to  be  will  plaze 
every  mother's  son  in  Askatoon.  Giggles  they  called  him ! 
A  bit  of  a  girl  they  thought  him !  What's  he  turned  out 
to  be,  though  he's  giggling  still  ?  Why,  a  man  that's  got 
the  double  cinch  on  Askatoon.  Even  that  fella  Burlin- 
game  has  nothin'  to  say  ag'in'  him ;  and  when  Burlingame 
hasn't  anny  mud  to  throw,  then  you  must  stop  and  look 
hard.  Shure,  the  blessed  Virgin,  or  the  Almighty  him- 
self, couldn't  escape  the  tongue  of  Augustus  Burlingame 
• — not  even  you." 

The  Young  Doctor  burst  out  laughing.  "'The 
blessed  Mary,  or  the  Almighty  himself — not  even  you !  * 
Well,  Patsy,  you're  a  wonder,"  he  said. 

"  Aw,  you're  not  goin'  to  get  off  'by  scoffin'  at  me," 
remarked  Patsy.  "  Shure,  what  did  Augustus  Burlin- 
game say  of  you — well  now,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Patsy,  what  was  it  ?  "  urged  the  other. 

"  Shure,  he  criticized  you.  He  called  you  '  Squills,' 
and  said  you'd  helped  more  people  intil  the  wurruld  than 
out  of  it." 

"  You  call  that  criticism,  Patsy  ?  " 

"  Whichever  way  you  look  at  it,  hasn't  it  an  ugly  face  ? 
Is  it  a  kindness  to  man  to  bring  him  into  the  wurruld? 
That's  wan  way  of  lookin'  at  it.  But  suppose  he  meant 
the  other  thing,  that  not  being  married,  you " 

"  Patsy  Kernaghan,"  interjected  the  Young  Doctor 
ii 


162  WILD  YOUTH 

sternly,  "  you're  not  fit  company.    Take  care,  or  there'll 
be  no  Slow  Down  Ranch  for  you.    An  evil  mind 

Now  it  was  Patsy's  turn  to  interrupt :  "  Watch  me  now, 
I  think  that  wan  of  the  most  beautiful  things  I  iver  saw 
was  them  two  young  people  comin'  together.  Five  long 
months  it  was  afther  Mazarine  was  put  away  before  she 
spoke  with  him.  It  was  in  the  gardin  at  Nolan's  ranch, 
and  even  then  it  wasn't  aisy  till  her.  Not  that  she  didn't 
want  to  see  him  all  the  time ;  not,  I'll  be  bound,  that  she 
didn't  say,  when  you  and  Nolan  first  told  her  the  mastodon 
was  dead,  '  Thank  God,  I'm  free ! '  But,  there  he  was, 
flung  out  of  the  wurruld  without  a  minute's  notice,  and 
•with  the  black  thing  in  his  heart.  Shure,  you'll  be  under- 
standin'  it  a  thousand  times  better  than  meself,  y'r  anner." 

He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  little  box,  offered  it 
to  the  Young  Doctor  and  continued  his  story. 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  whin  five  months  had  gone  by  they 
met.  By  chanct  I  saw  the  meetin'.  Watch  me  now,  I'll 
tell  you  how  it  was.  She  was  sittin'  on  a  bench  in  the 
gardin,  lookin'  in  front  of  her  and  seein'  nothin'  but  what 
was  in  her  mind's  eye,  and  who  can  tell  what  she  would  be 
seein' !  There  she  sat  sweet  as  a  saint,  very  straight  up, 
the  palms  of  her  hands  laid  on  the  bench  on  either  side, 
as  though  they  was  supportin'  her — like  a  statue  she 
looked.  I  watched  her  manny  a  minute,  but  she  niver 
moved.  Well,  there  she  was,  lookin' — lookin'  in  front  o' 
her,  whin  round  the  big  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  gardin  he 
come  and  stood  f  orninst  her.  They  just  looked  and  looked 
at  each  other  without  a  word.  Like  months  it  seemed. 
They  looked,  and  looked,  as  though  they  was  tryin'  to  read 
some  story  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  then  she  give  a  kind 
of  joyful  moan,  and  intil  his  arms  she  went  like  a  nestlin' 
bird. 


YOUTH  HAS  ITS  WAY  163 

"  He  raised  up  her  head,  and — well,  now,  y'r  anner, 
I  niver  saw  anything  I  liked  better.  There  niver  had  been 
a  girl  in  his  life,  and  there  niver  was  a  man  in  hers — not 
one  that  mattered,  till  they  two  took  up  with  each  other, 
and  it's  a  thing — well,  y'r  anner,  I'd  be  a  proud  man  if 
I  could  write  it  down.  It's  a  story  thafd  take  its  place 
beside  the  ancient  ones." 

The  Young  Doctor  looked  at  Patsy  meditatively. 
"  Patsy,"  said  he,  "  the  difference  between  the  north  and 
the  south  of  Ireland  is  that  in  the  south  they  are  all 
poets "  He  paused. 

"Well,  you  haven't  finished,  y'r  anner,"  said  Ker- 
naghan. 

"  And  in  the  north  they  think  they  are,"  continued  the 
fYoung  Doctor.  "  I'd  like  to  see  those  two  as  your  eyes 
in  front  of  your  mind  saw  them,  Patsy." 

"  Aw,  well  then,  you  couldn't  do  it,  Doctor  dear,  for 
you've  niver  'been  in  love.  Shure,  there's  no  heart  till 
ye ! "  answered  the  Irishman,  and  took  another  pinch  of 
snuff  with  a  flourish. 

Flamingo-like  in  her  bright-colored,  figured  gown,  with 
a  wild  flower  in  her  hair  and  her  gray  curls  dancing  gently 
at  her  temples,  a  little  old  lady  trotted  up  and  down  the 
big  sitting  room  of  Slow  Down  Ranch,  talking  volubly  and 
insistently.  One  ironically  minded  would  have  said  she 
chirruped,  for  her  words  came  out  in  not  unmusical,  if 
staccato,  notes,  and  she  shook  her  shriveled,  ringed 
fingers  reprovingly  at  a  stalwart  young  man. 

Once  or  twice,  as  she  seemed  to  threaten  him  with 
what  the  poet  called  "  the  slow,  unmoving  finger  of  scorn," 
he  giggled.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  at  once  amused 
and  troubled.  This  voice  had  cherished  and  chided  him 


164  WILD  YOUTH 

all  his  life,  and  he  could  measure  accurately  what  was 
behind  it.  It  was  a  wilful  voice.  It  had  the  insistence 
which  power  gives,  and  to  a  woman — or  to  most  women 
— power  is  either  money  or  beauty,  since,  in  the  world  as 
it  is,  office  and  authority  are  denied  them.  Beauty  was 
gone  from  the  face  of  the  ancient  dame,  but  she  still  had 
much  money,  and,  on  rare  occasions,  it  gave  her  a  little 
touch  of  arrogance.  It  did  so  now  as  she  admonished 
her  beloved  son,  who  would  at  any  time  have  renounced 
fortune,  or  hope  of  fortune,  for  some  wilful  idea  of  his 
own.  A  less  sordid  modern  did  not  exist 

He  was  not  very  effective  in  the  contest  of  tongues 
between  his  mother  and  himself.  As  the  talk  went  on  he 
foresaw  that  he  was  to  be  beaten ;  yet  he  persisted,  for  he 
loved  a  joy-wrangle,  as  he  called  it,  with  his  mother.  He 
had  argued  with  her  many  a  time,  just  to  see  her  in  a 
harmless  passion,  and  note  how  the  youth  of  her  came 
back,  giving  high  color  to  the  wrinkled  face,  and  how  the 
eyes  shone  with  a  brightness  which  had  been  constant  in 
them  long  ago.  They  were  now  quarrelling  over  that  ever- 
fruitful  cause  of  antagonism — the  second  woman  in  the 
life  of  a  man.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  the  flamingo-like 
Eugenie  Guise  was  fighting  for  the  second  woman,  not 
against  her. 

"  I'll  say  it  all  again  and  again  and  again  till  you  have 
sense,  Orlando,"  she  declared.  "  Your  old  mother  hasn't 
lived  all  these  years  for  nothing.  I'm  not  thinking  of 
you ;  I'm  thinking  of  her."  She  pointed  towards  the  door 
of  another  room,  from  which  came  sounds  of  laughter — 
happy  laughter — in  which  a  man's  and  a  woman's  voices 
sounded.  "  On  the  day  she  comes  into  this  house — and 
that's  the  day  after  to-morrow — I  shall  go.  I'll  stand  at 
the  door  and  welcome  you,  and  see  you  have  a  good 


YOUTH  HAS  ITS  WAY  165 

wedding-breakfast  and  that  it  all  goes  off  grand,  then  I 
shall  vanish." 

Orlando  made  a  helpless  gesture  of  the  hand.  "  Well, 
mother,  as  I  said,  it  will  make  us  both  unhappy — Louise 
as  much  as  me.  You  and  I  have  never  'been  parted  except 
for  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how 
I  could  stand  it." 

"Rather  late  to  think  about  it,"  the  other  returned. 
"  You  can't  have  two  women  spoiling  you  in  one  house 
and  being  jealous  of  each  other — oh,  you  needn't  toss 
your  fingers !  Even  two  women  that  love  each  other  can't 
bear  the  competition.  Just  because  I  love  her  and  want  her 
to  be  happy,  off  I  go  to  your  Aunt  Amelia  to  live  with 
her.  She's  poor,  and  I'll  still  have  someone  to  boss  as 
I've  bossed  you.  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved  Amelia 
till  she  got  sick  last  year  when  everything  terrible  was 
happening  here.  I'm  going,  Orlando 

"  Two  birds  hopping  on  one  branch 
Would  kill  the  joy  of  Slow  Down  Ranch 

"There,  I  made  that  up  on  the  moment.  It's  true, 
even  if  it  is  poetry." 

"  It  isn't  poetry,  mother/'  was  the  reply,  and  there 
was  an  ironical  look  in  Orlando's  eyes.  "  Poetry's  the 
truth  of  life,"  he  hastened  to  add  carefully,  "and  it's 
not  poetry  to  say  that  you  could  be  a  kill- joy." 

The  little  lady  tossed  her  head.  "  Well,  you'll  never 
have  a  chance  to  prove  it,  for  I'm  taking  the  express  East 
on  the  night  of  your  wedding.  That's  settled.  Amelia 
needs  me,  and  I'm  going  to  her.  .  .  .  Your  wedding- 
present  will  be  the  ranch  and  a  hundred  thousand  dollars," 
she  added. 

"  You're  the  sun-dried  fruit  of  Paradise,  Mother," 
Orlando  said,  taking  her  by  the  arms. 


166  WILD  YOUTH 

"  I  heard  the  Young  Doctor  call  me  a  bird  of  Paradise 
once,"  she  returned.  "  People  don't  know  how  sharp  my 
ears  are.  .  .  .  But  I  never  stored  it  up  against  him.  Taste 
is  born  in  you,  and  if  people  haven't  got  it  in  the  cradle, 
they  never  have  it.  I  suppose  his  mother  went  around  in 
a  black  alpaca  and  wore  her  hair  like  a  wardress  in  a  jail. 
I'm  sorry  for  him — that's  all." 

"  Suppose  I  should  get  homesick  for  you  and  run  away 
from  her !  "  remarked  Orlando  slyly. 

"  Run  away  with  her  to  me,"  chirruped  Eugenie,  with 
a  vain  little  laugh. 

Suddenly  her  manner  changed,  and  she  looked  at  her 
son  with  dreamy  intensity.  "  You  are  so  wonderfully 
young,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  very  old.  I  had 
much  happiness  with  your  father  while  he  lived.  He  was 
such  a  wise  man.  Always  he  gave  in  to  me  in  the  little 
things,  and  I  gave  in  to  him  in  all  the  big  things.  He 
almost  made  me  a  sensible  woman." 

There  was  a  strange  wistfulness  in  her  face.  Through 
all  the  years,  down  beneath  everything,  there  had  been 
the  helpless  knowledge  in  her  own  small,  garish  mind 
that  she  had  little  sense ;  now  she  realized  that  she  was 
given  a  chance  to  atone  for  all  her  pettiness  by  doing  one 
great  sensible  thing. 

Orlando  was  about  to  embrace  her,  but  she  briskly 
turned  away.  She  could  not  endure  that.  If  he  did  it, 
the  pent-up  motherhood  would  break  forth,  and  her  cour- 
age would  take  flight.  She  was  something  more  than  the 
"parokeet  of  Pernambukoko,"  as  Patsy  Kernaghan  had 
called  her. 

She  went  to  the  door  of  the  other  room.  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  the  Young  Doctor  about  Amelia,"  she  said.  "  He's 
clever,  and  perhaps  he  could  give  her  a  good  prescription. 


YOUTH  HAS  ITS  WAY  167 

I'll  send  Louise  to  you.  It's  nicer  courting  in  this  room 
where  you  can  see  the  garden  and  the  grand  hills.  You're 
going  to  give  Louise  the  little  gray  mare  you  lassooed 
last  year,  aren't  you  ?  I  always  think  of  Louise  when  I 
look  at  that  gray  mare.  You  had  to  break  the  pony's 
heart  'before  she  could  be  what  she  is — the  nicest  little 
thing  that  ever  was  broken  by  a  man's  hand;  and  Louise, 
she  had  to  have  her  heart  broken,  too.  Your  father  and 
I  were  almost  of  an  age — he  was  two  years  older,  and  we 
had  our  youth  together.  And  you  and  Louise  are  so 
wonderfully  young,  too.  Be  good  to  her,  son.  She's 
never  been  married.  She  was  only  in  prison  with  that  old 
lizard.  What  a  horrible  mouth  he  had !  It's  shut  now," 
she  added  remorselessly.  Opening  the  door  of  the  other 
room,  she  disappeared. 

A  moment  later,  Louise  entered  upon  Orlando. 

The  vanished  months  had  worked  wonders  in  her.  She 
was  like  the  young  summer  beyond  the  open  windows, 
alive  to  her  finger-tips,  shyly  radiant,  with  shining  eyes, 
yet  in  their  depths  an  alluring  pensiveness  never  to  leave 
them  altogether.  Knowledge  had  come  to  her ;  an  appre- 
hending soul  was  speaking  in  her  face.  The  sweetness  of 
her  smile,  as  she  looked  at  the  man  before  her,  was  such 
as  could  only  be  distilled  from  the  bitter  herbs  of  the 
desert. 

"  Oh,  Orlando ! "  she  said  joyously,  as  she  came 
forward. 


JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 


JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  COMING  OF  MINDEN 

"  WHAT  do  you  think  of  it,  Doctor?  " 

The  Young  Doctor  had  just  stepped  from  his  buggy 
in  front  of  the  drug  store  in  the  main  street  of  Askatoon. 
The  quizzical  question  was  followed  by  a  round  of  laughter 
from  a  half-dozen  noon-timers. 

"  I  think  it's  mental  deficiency,"  satirically  answered 
the  Young  Doctor,  who,  though  dusty  from  his  drive  and 
weary  of  face  and  mind  from  a  long  vigil  at  a  bedside 
and  a  twenty-mile  drive,  was  cheerful  and  dryly  playful 
as  ever.  He  had  no  idea  what  was  the  subject  of  their 
talk. 

"  Shure,  it  looks  like  it,"  said  old  Patsy  Kernaghan, 
"  for  what  would  he  be  doin'  here  anny way  ?  " 

"  What  would  who  be  doin'  here,  Patsy  ?  "  asked  the 
Young  Doctor,  with  the  look  of  one  who  suffered  fools 
gladly,  and  for  some  reason  suffered  this  fool  more  gladly 
than  others. 

Patsy  bridled  up.  "Bill  Minden — that's  who!  An' 
the  top  of  his  head  must  be  gone  an'  the  inside  of  his  mind, 
that  he'd  be  settlin'  here.  What  would  he  be  doin'  here 
but  watchin'  the  wheat  grow — though  to  be  sure  there's 
three  trains  a  day,  an'  it's  a  sight  to  see  y'r  anner  busy  in 
the  lambin'  season !  " 

This  last  reference  to  the  Young  Doctor's  activity  in 
shepherding  the  passage  of  new  arrivals  into  the  world, 
and  incidentally  into  Askatoon,  brought  a  roar  of  laughter. 

171 


172  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  Well,  you'll  not  be  thinkin'  much  of  lambin'  yourself, 
Patsy,"  responded  the  Young  Doctor.  "  Whatever  Mr. 
William  Minden  does,  at  your  age  and  in  your  debased 
state  of  health  yourself'll  be  only  thinking  of  black  horses 
with  long  tails  and  a  carriage  for  one."  He  always  put  on 
a  slight  Irish  brogue  when  talking  to  Patsy  Kernaghan. 

"  Aw,  no,  Doctor,  dear,"  drawled  the  old  man,  "  let 
thim  ride  behind  the  black  horses  as  never  rode  before. 
I'll  be  gettin'  to  me  long  home  in  a  wheelbarra.  There's 
more  than  one  of  thim  that's  got  safe  past  you  '11  be  glad 
to  help  put  out  o'  sight  what  you've  left  of  me." 

"  No,  no,  I'll  keep  you  alive  just  to  hear  you  talk  in  the 
foreign  language  you  call  your  mother-tongue,  Patsy," 
smiled  the  Young  Doctor,  having  tied  the  halter  of  his 
gray  mare  to  the  hitching-post  by  the  sidewalk.  "  But 
who  is  Mr.  William  Minden,  and  where  does  he  come 
from?" 

Two  or  three  of  the  group  sniggered  and  winked  at 
each  other;  for  who  had  not  heard  of  Bill  Minden,  the 
notorious  train  and  stage-coach  robber,  who  faithfully 
kept  the  Sabbath  day  holy  and  as  faithfully  made  unholy 
every  other,  day  of  the  week,  when  it  served  his  purpose 
so  to  do?  They  knew  that  the  Young  Doctor  loved  to 
hear  Patsy  Kernaghan  talk,  for  they  both  had  come  from 
the  Emerald  Isle. 

"  Mr.  William  Minden ! "  remarked  Patsy,  scornfully. 
"  Is  it  ye  want  to  insult  a  stranger  in  the  place? — I  ask  ye 
that.  The  wide  wurruld  knows  Bill  Minden  as  Bill  Min- 
den, without  anny  handle  to  his  name  and  no  William 
at  all." 

"  Never  heard  of  him,"  retorted  the  Young  Doctor. 
"  What's  he  done  ?  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Never    h'ard    of    him!"    exclaimed    Kernaghan. 


THE  COMING  OF  MINDEN  173 

"  Never  h'ard  of  Bill  Minden !  Wasn't  it  two  years  ago 
he  stuck  up  the  express  down  in  Oregon?  Didn't  he 
rob  the  stage-coach  a  year  ago  at  Lancy,  and  didn't " 

"  That  wasn't  proved,"  interjected  a  voice. 

"An'  the  express  business  wasn't  proved  aither," 
declared  Kernaghan ;  "  an'  afther  Bill  left  the  court  with 
tears  in  his  beautiful  eyes  and  not  a  stain  on  his  character, 
didn't  he  own  up  to  it,  and  give  five  hundred  dollars  to  an 
orphan  children's  home !  Always  doin'  that  kind  of  thing, 
isn't  he,  Father  Roche?  I'll  say  that  of  him,  although 
he's  a  Protis'ant,"  he  added  with  the  air  of  doing  a  brave 
thing. 

He  had  addressed  his  last  words  to  a  new  arrival  in  the 
group  round  him — a  priest,  the  much-beloved  priest  who 
guarded  and  guided  his  very  small  Catholic  flock  at 
Askatoon. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,  Kernaghan.  He  also  gave  five  hundred 
'dollars  to  the  Confraternity  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  for 
the  poor  at  Portland  at  the  same  time,"  responded  Father 
Roche,  who  smilingly  acknowledged  the  salutations  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Thoughtful  William,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor, 
shaking  hands  with  Father  Roche.  "  We  could  find  use 
for  his  sympathies  at  Askatoon  if  he  came  our  way." 

'Patsy  threw  up  his  hands.  "  Come  our  way !  Aw, 
Doctor,  dear,  what've  I  been  sayin'  all  this  time  but  that 
Bill  Minden's  here — here  now  in  Askatoon !  Settled  here 
— come  to  stay — brought  his  ox  and  his  ass,  an'  every- 
thing that's  his." 

"  Or  not,  as  the  case  may  be,"  rejoined  the  Young 
Doctor.  "  Where  is  he  camped  ?  " 

"  Shure,  he's  at  the  Sunbright  Hotel — where  else  would 
a  rich  man  like  him  be  stayin'  ?  "  remarked  Kernaghan. 


174  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

The  Young  Doctor  looked  at  Kernaghan  quizzically. 
"  Now  how  do  you  know  he's  rich?  Seen  the  inside  of 
his  till,  eh?" 

Kernaghan  grinned.  "Aw,  Doctor,  does  annyone 
think  a  man  that's  opened  as  manny  tills  as  Bill  Minden 
wouldn't  have  a  full  one  of  his  own  ?  " 

"  And  what  do  you  think  he's  come  here  for?  "  contin- 
ued the  Young  Doctor.  "  You  have  a  great  head,  Patsy. 
Now  give  it  a  chance.  What  is  Bill  Minden,  the  train 
robber,  doing  in  Askatoon  ?  " 

Patsy  reflected  a  minute,  scratching  his  head  behind  the 
ear.  "  Well,  there's  manny  a  busy  man  that's  never  had 
time  to  look  at  himself,  an'  he  just  steals  away  somewhere 
to  a  backwater  to  see  his  own  face." 

Father  Roche  smiled  broadly.  "  Solitude  and  repent- 
ance— is  that  it,  Kernaghan?  " 

Before  Patsy  could  reply,  Jonas  Billings,  the  livery- 
stable  keeper,  intervened.  "  Say,  you  call  Askatoon  a 
backwater,  do  you?  Nothin'  doin',  eh?  You'll  get 
yourself  disliked,  Kernaghan,  my  friend." 

"  Shure,  wouldn't  it  seem  like  a  backwater  to  Min- 
den ?  "  answered  Patsy.  "  A  man  that's  used  to  stoppin' 
a  train  or  holdin'  up  a  stage-coach'd  think  Askatoon  was 
a  cimetairy."1 

"Has  anyone  seen  him?"  asked  the  Young  Doctor. 
"What  sort  of  a  looking  man  is  he? " 

One  pt  two  mouths  opened,  but  Patsy  was  not  to  be 
denied. 

"  Seen  him !  Isn't  his  face  as  well  known  as  that  of 
the  Pope?  Hasn't  his  fortygraf  been  in  the  papers  for 
manny  a  year?  Didn't  I  see  him  meself  step  aff  the  train 
here,  an'  didn't  I  look  to  see  if  he'd  carry  it  away  with 
him,  ingin^and  all  ?  Didn't  I  see  him  onct  in  Vancouver  ? 


THE  COMING  OF  MINDEN  175 

What's  he  like?  Well,  his  head's  as  big  as  a  cushion,  as 
black  as  jet — not  a  gray  hair  anny where.  Did  ye  ivir  see 
pictures  of  the  Dook  o'  Norfolk?  That's  a  fine  man  and  a 
good  Cat'lic.  Well,  Bill  Minden's  like  the  Dook  o'  Nor- 
folk, with  a  big  black,  bushy  beard,  spread  out  more  than 
the  Dook's,  with  beautiful  black,  bushy  eyebrows  that  the 
Dook'd  have,  too,  if  he  let  his  grow — shure,  I  saw  the 
Dook  wance  when  he  come  to  Maynooth,  About  five  foot 
eight  Bill  is — a  bit  higher  than  the  Dook ;  but  whin  it 
conies  to  shoulders — aw,  well,  there  y'are,  the  Dook  just 
draps  away  to  nawthing  at  all,  an'  he's  got  a  fine  chist,  too. 
Bill  has  a  chist  like  a  house,  and  a  head  like  the  cupoly 
at  the  tap  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  Fee,  fo,  fi,  f um,  I  smell 
the  blood  of  an  Englishmun!  Aw,  it's  a  gran'  sight  to 
look  at  him.  None  o'  your  sky-scrapers,  but  somethin' 
like  the  fellow  they  called  Atlas  that  carried  the  wurruld 
on  his  back — a  hel^of  a  fine  fellow.  Aw,  there,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Father  Roche.  Heaven's  own  boy,  that's  what  Bill 
Minden  is,  physically  and  in  fidoosary  terms,  as  it  were, 
but  as  aisy  and  swate — aw,  you'd  be  thinkin'  he  was  the 
father  of  fourteen  children  all  of  'em  girls,  a-risin'  his 
eyebrows  and  smilin'  at  ye  as  if  ye  was  his  long-lost 
brother.  'Ah,  Patsy  Kernaghan/  sez  he  to  me  whin  I 
mentioned  me  name  to  him,  *  might  I  ask  if  y'are  Irish  ? ' 
sez  he." 

He  could  get  no  further.  &  burst  of  laughter  shook 
the  crowd. 

"  Patsy,"  said  the  Young  Doctor,  solemnly,  "  I  am 
surprised  at  the  question  he  asked  you.  It's  evident  Mr. 
Minden's  sight  and  hearing  are  failing." 

Patsy  waved  a  hand  at  them  all  contemptuously. 
"  How  could  he  know  I  was  Irish  without  bein'  told  ? 
Is  it  because  there's  anny  green  in  me  eye?  Had  I  a 


176  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

shillaly,  or  had  I  a  pipe  in  me  hat?  Was  the  man  the 
Almighty  that  he  should  see  the  source  of  a  man's  nativ- 
ity ?  He's  a  fine  man  that — whativer  his  past,  he's  a  fine 
man.  What  was  the  first  wurrd  he  asked  me  afther  I  told 
him  I  was  Irish  ?  '  Which  is  the  way  to  the  Cat'lic 
Church?'  he  sez  to  me,  an*  I  told  him.  '  Which  is  the 
way  to  the  hotel  ? '  he  sez  to  me — '  to  the  Sunbright 
Hotel? '  he  sez  to  me — an'  I  told  him." 

"  Yes,  but  which  way  did  he  go?  "  asked  the  Young 
Doctor. 

"  He  wint  to  the  hotel — the  man  had  to  have  a  bed 
and  a  meal,  hadn't  he?  But  it  shows  the  heart  of  him 
whin  he  asks  his  way  to  the  Cat'lic  Church  first." 

"  I  have  not  noticed  him  in  the  vicinity,"  interjected 
Father  Roche,  with  mild  irony. 

"  Bill  Minden  ain't  a  Catholic,"  grunted  Jonas  Billings, 
the  keeper  of  the  livery-stable.  "  Say,  I  remember  him 
on  the  Siwash  River  ten  years  ago.  He's  a  Protes'ant, 
but  he  don't  hold  by  church  goin'.  I've  seen  him  sit 
right  out  on  the  stoop  in  front  of  the  Mosquito  Hotel  at 
Siwash  Junction  on  a  Sunday  mornin'  readin'  his  Bible 
with  a  church  not  three  hundred  yards  away,  holdin' 
his  own  meetings.  He'd  sit  there  all  mornin'  readin' 
the  Bible — the  Old  Testament  it  was;  and  p'raps  some- 
times he'd  let  out  some  commentory  on  what  he  read 
— maybe  about  Elijah  or  Nebuchadnezzar  or  Boaz  or 
Daniel  or  Abr'am,  an'  he  wouldn't  have  any  argyment 
about  it  He'd  just  lay  down  the  law  an'  ye  had  to  take 
it.  He  carries  that  little  black  Bible  round  with  him 
wherever  he  goes.  He'd  read  it  on  a  Sunday  morning 
solemn  and  satisfied,  and  on  a  Monday  night  he'd  stick  up 
a  train  all  alone — walk  right  through  a  car  scoopin'  jewels 
and  cash  as  he  went.  I  suppose  readin'  on  a  Sunday 


THE  COMING  OF  MINDEN  177 

mornin'  about  Saul  and  David  havin'  killed  their  thou- 
sands and  their  tens  of  thousands  give  him  the  courage 
to  spoil  the  Philistines  on  a  Monday  night.  Nobody  ever 
laughed  at  Bill  for  doin'  what  he  done/  It  wasn't  pre- 
tendin'.  It  suited  him ;  he  gloated  on  it ;  it  was  wine  and 
milk  to  him.  .When  he  was  in  jail  at  Portland  the  learned, 
holy  doctors  used  to  come  to  convert  him.  Say,  what 
a  surprise  for  them  when  Bill  turned  his  guns  on  'em 
from  Deuteronomy  to  Malachi.  He  massacreed  them 
with  ihis  tongue  'fore  they  knew  where  they  were.  Start 
him  on  the  Old  Testament,  get  him  in  the  gates  of  the 
holy  places  here  in  Askatoon,  and  see  what  he'll  do.  Why, 
that  Bill  Minden,  train  robber  and  roadman,  knows  the 
Bible  from  Genesees  to  Luke,  same  as  I  know  the  road  to 
Starwart's  saloon.  Catholic!  Bill  Minden  a  Catholic? 
Catholics  don't  read  Bibles,  beggin'  Father  Roche's  par- 
don. They  go  to  Mass ;  they  listen  to  the  voice  of  holy 
inspiration  in  the  church.  If  I'm  asked,  I  say  Bill's  a 
Unitarian.  He's  a  Mount  Moriah  man,  not  an  Olivet  per- 
suader. If  you've  got  it  in  your  mind  that  he  didn't  mean 
his  Bible-reading  as  real  when  he  done  it,  you'll  have  to 
get  it  into  your  mind  that  he  didn't  mean  stickin'  up  a 
coach  when  he  done  it.  If  he  oughtn't  to  go  to  Heaven 
for  reading  the  Bible  because  it  wasn't  real,  then  he 
oughtn't  to  go  to  jail  for  stickin'  up  the  train.  Ez  fur 
ez  I  can  make  out,  Bill  Minden's  real — all  wool,  and  two 
yards  wide." 

"  Then  what's  he  doin'  in  Askatoon  ? "  remarked 
Rigby,  the  chemist,  in  the  doorway,  at  which  there  was 
laughter  unchecked. 

The  Young  Doctor  fanned  himself  with  his  straw  hat 
and  looked  musingly  at  Kernaghan.  "  Patsy,"  said  he, 
"  we've  got  a  problem  here ;  it's  the  problem  of  sitting 
12 


178  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

on  both  sides  of  a  fence  at  once.  From  Bill  Minden's 
past  habits  I  gather  that  here  at  Askatoon  we'll  find  him 
painting  the  town  red  on  a  Monday,  and  visiting  the 
hospital,  the  jail,  the  prayer-meeting  and  the  schools 
on  a  Tuesday.  So  far  as  I  can  see  he'll  have  two  mot- 
toes. One  will  be, '  Licensed  to  drink  wine,  beer  and  other 
spirituous  and  fermented  liquors/  and  the  other  will  be, 
'  Home,  sweet  Home.'  Patsy,  v;e  shall  have  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Mr.  William  Minden." 

Patsy  nodded.  "  Faith,  that's  so.  Now  what  was 
the  first  thing  he  done  after  he  got  to  the  hotel?  The 
first  thing  he  done  was  to  march  straight  aff  to  the  school 
— to  the  Central  School.  So  you're  right,  Doctor  dear. 
An'  I  wint  with  him — that's  to  say  I  wint  behind  him, 
walkin'  in  his  wake.  There  he  stood  and  watched  the 
children  comin'  out  of  school — shure,  it  was  only  an  hour 
ago.  An'  he  smiled  at  thim  an'  patted  their  heads  an' 
give  away — aw,  well,  he  give  away  twenty  or  thirty 
five-cint  pieces.  Whin  Miss  Finley,  the  head  teacher, 
come  out — that's  a  fine  girl,  Cora  Finley,  a  beautiful, 
strappin'  girl,  with  handsome  face  an'  an  eye  that'd  light 
up  an  underground  cave — whin  she  passed  him  standin' 
by  the  gate,  he  raised  his  hat  agin  her,  an'  as  nice  a  word 
he  spoke  of  good-day-to-ye  as  iver  was  spoke  annywhere. 
Thin  he  watched  her,  and  watched  her  after  she'd  laughed 
back  an  answer  at  him,  till  she  was  out  of  sight  by  turnin' 
the  corner.  Now  a  man  that'll  do  that,  that'll  just  go 
straight  to  a  schoolhouse  almost  before  he's  had  time  to 
take  aff  his  boots  in  the  town,  well,  that's  a  man  ye'll  have 
to  think  about  twice.  It's  my  opinion  he'll  be  an  out- 
standin'  figure  in  the  place." 

"  Let's  hope  he  won't  be  a  figure  in  an  outstanding 
debt,"  remarked  Father  Roche  quietly. 


THE  COMING  OF  MINDEN  179 

"  Aw,  there's  manny  a  Protis'ant  that's  a  good  man — 
savin'  your  prisince,"  replied  Patsy,  turning  to  Father 
Roche  and  misreading  his  mind. 

"  Do  you  know,  Father  Roche,"  said  the  Young  Doctor 
musingly,  "  if  we  only  knew  exactly  why  a  man  did  some 
certain  thing  in  his  life — perhaps  some  very  small  thing 
— we  should  know  his  whole  character.  Now,  perhaps, 
af  we  knew  exactly  why  Bill  Minden  went  to  that  school 
this  afternoon,  we  should  have  a  Book  of  Revelations." 

"  Well,  there  he  is  now.  You  can  ask  him,"  declared 
Patsy.  "  There  he  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  street." 

Slowly,  with  a  kind  of  loose  dignity  and  yet  with  a 
smack  of  assertion,  too,  owing  to  a  curious  bending  of 
the  legs  as  he  walked,  with  that  in  it  of  a  cavalry  officer's 
stride,  Bill  Minden  was  coming  down  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  There  was  something  self-contained  and  self- 
sufficient  about  him,  yet  there  was  nothing  repellent.  In- 
deed, there  was  a  unique  kindliness — the  kindliness  of  a 
chieftain  or  a  patriarch — in  the  expression  of  his  hard- 
bitten face.  He  took  no  notice  of  the  crowd  watching  him, 
and  appeared  not  to  see  them.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  almost  opposite  the  group  of  gossips,  were  a  horse 
and  buggy.  On  the  seat  of  the  buggy  was  a  dog  of  some 
size  and  marked  ferocity  of  appearance.  While  Minden 
was  passing  the  buggy  he  stepped  towards  it,  and  held  out 
his  hand  as  though  to  stroke  the  dog.  A  voice  behind  him 
suddenly  called  out,  "  Don't  touch  him,  he'll  bite,"  as  the 
sullen  brute  raised  its  head.  Without  an  instant's  hesita- 
tion Minden's  hand  went  quietly  out  above  the  dog's 
body  as  he  murmured  something,  and  then  slowly  found 
the  head  and  ears.  The  action  had  been  very  swift  yet 
gentle,  and  the  voice  had  been  monotonously  even,  with  a 
curious,  rough  melody.  Presently  the  snarl  left  the  dog's 


i8o  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

mouth,  the  teeth  ceased  to  show,  and  he  wagged  his  tail 
as  Minden  turned  with  a  smile  to  its  terrified  owner. 
"  Like  a  dog  I  had  once,"  he  said,  and  moved  on. 
As  he  did  so,  Jonas  Billings  shouted,  "  Hurrah !  " 
Minden  turned,  and  many  hands  were  waved  in  greet- 
ing across  the  street  towards  him.    He  waved  a  reply  non- 
chalantly, and  passed  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  REASON  WHY 

THE  good  humor  which  marked  Minden's  entrance 
into  the  life  of  Askatoon  continued  through  the  months 
that  followed.  His  habits  were  commendable.  He  neither 
drank  nor  chewed  tobacco — the  mark  of  the  "  tough  " — 
and  even  his  enemies  were  forced  to  admit  that  his  outer 
conduct  was  above  suspicion.  He  interested  himself  con- 
spicuously in  good  works,  though,  in  spite  of  his  apparent 
honest  sympathy,  there  was  a  feeling  abroad  that  his  entry 
into  this  field  was  like  the  invasion  of  a  millinery  shop  by 
a  buffalo.  That,  however,  did  not  prevent  every  friend 
of  every  charity  from  "  bleeding  "  him  successfully.  It 
was  noted  that  never  but  once  did  he  go  to  church  or  meet- 
ing. He  had  asked  Patsy  Kernaghan  the  way  to  the  Catho- 
lic Church  on  the  day  of  his  arrival,  but  there  the  matter 
ended,  though  Patsy  still  regarded  the  incident  with  almost 
superstitious  reverence.  Of  a  Sunday  morning,  at  the 
Sunbright  Hotel,  however,  Minden  sat  on  the  verandah 
wearing  his  best  coat  and  adorned  by  a  collar ;  at  other 
times,  because  of  his  huge  beard, he  wore  nothing  so  useless 
as  a  collar ;  and  in  the  presence  of  all  and  sundry  he  read 
his  black  leather-bound  Bible.  There  was  no  lurking  irony 
or  self-consciousness  in  his  looks  as  he  entered  upon  or 
as  he  continued  his  task.  It  was  done  as  naturally  as 
eating  a  meal,  and  he  took  no  notice  of  those  who  gazed 
at  him.  If,  however,  some  natural  son  of  Adam  engaged 
him  in  talk  on  some  scriptural  topic — particularly  of  the 
Old  Testament — he  did  not  fail  to  lay  down  the  sacred 
law  according  to  William  Minden  assisted  by  the  prophets, 
major  and  minor. 

181 


182  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

Once  only  a  stranger  ventured  to  scoff.  He  had  come 
from  the  Border,  had  cheered  himself  with  pregnant 
refreshment,  and  had  then  begun  to  chaff  the  quiescent 
Bill.  At  last  he  asked  Bill  to  give  him  a  tip  for  the 
heavenly  race,  and  added  that  Jordan  was  a  hard  road 
to  travel.  Whereupon  Bill  rose,  laid  down  his  Bible  gently 
and  said,  "  You  shall  have  a  tip,  my  son,"  and  with  his 
foot  catching  the  feet  and  ankle  of  the  scoffer  tipped  him 
over  the  verandah  rail  into  a  barrel  of  rain-water.  As  the 
scoffer  scrambled  out,  raging  and  bedraggled,  Bill,  leaning 
over  the  verandah,  said,  "You  poisonous  pimp  of  the 
pampas,  if  it  wasn't  the  Sabbath  I'd  carve  your  cursed 
cuticle !  " 

Though  the  phrases  Bill  used  were  so  sensationally 
picturesque,  and  gave  signs  of  finished  preparation,  they 
were,  on  the  contrary,  impromptu.  They  represented  a 
natural  gift,  developed  by  long  practice,  for  manufactur- 
ing strange  phrases  and  oaths  which  had  ornamented 
Bill's  past  progress.  This  gift  of  alliterative  decoration 
was  a  real  asset  in  his  life  at  Askatoon.  It  had  been  used 
at  first  privately,  but  it  ultimately  achieved  him  a  reputa- 
tion at  a  public  meeting  called  in  the  interest  of  cheaper 
freight  rates  on  the  railway.  There  his  choice  of  phrases, 
happily  emphasized  by  a  little  polite  profanity,  started 
him  on  a  popular  career  as  a  public  man.  There  were 
those  who  opposed  his  progress,  but  they  were  highly 
religious  people,  mostly  newcomers  from  the  east,  who 
regarded  his  criminal  career  with  horror,  and  who  dis- 
believed that  a  man  with  such  a  past  could  be  trusted 
until  he  had  been  officially  saved  by  divine  grace.  Joined 
with  them  in  this  feeling  was  the  mother  of  Cora  Finley, 
the  young  teacher  to  whom  Minden  had  spoken  on  the 
day  of  his  arrival. 


THE  REASON  WHY  183 

Mrs.  Finley  had  set  her  face  against  Minden  ever 
since  Cora  came  home  telling  of  the  strange  but  interesting 
man  who  had  watched  her  and  the  school  children  leave 
the  school,  the  day's  work  done.  Mrs.  Finley's  agitation 
when  she  afterwards  saw  Minden,  and  her  subsequent 
marked  antipathy,  might  reasonably  have  been  due  to 
the  fact  that  she  was  very  religious  and  resented  the 
interest  he  took  in  the  schools,  and,  incidentally,  in  her 
popular  offspring. 

There  was  nothing  pronounced  in  Minden's  interest  in 
the  girl.  He  was  always  respectful  to  her,  indeed  almost 
ostentatiously  so;  and  though  he  visited  other  schools 
regularly,  he  visited  the  Central  School  which  she  com- 
manded far  more  often  than  any  other.  Recitations 
were  part  of  each  Friday's  programme  in  the  schools,  and 
he  not  only  listened  to  these  recitations,  but  at  last  told 
stories  himself,  yarns  of  his  own  life,  expurgated  of  what 
the  scientists  call  "  foreign  matter,"  free  from  all  taint 
or  suggestion.  They  were  adventures  of  surprising  inter- 
est— sensational  incidents  clothed  in  his  own  vernacular, 
decorated  by  his  alliterative  facility.  A  close  observer 
would  have  noticed  that  whilst  he  was  thus  engaged, 
though  he  appeared  not  to  look  at  Cora  (who  welcomed 
his  coming  each  week  with  almost  unreasonable  pleasure), 
he  seemed  yet  to  be  conscious  when  her  eyes  were  on  him, 
or  when  her  attention  was  diverted,  knowing  all  she  did 
by  feeling  rather  than  by  sight. 

There  were  parents  who  objected  to  these  visitations, 
but  the  majority,  "tickled,"  as  they  colloquially  said,  at 
an  ex-criminal  and  wild  adventurer  playing  the  part  of 
school  visitor,  cheerfully  supported  him  and  put  to  rout 
his  critics.  One  day,  however,  something  made  him  more 
than  ever  the  talk  of  the  town.  It  was  the  announcement 


184  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

that  he  would  stand  for  the  office  of  school-trustee.  It 
was  made  only  a  few  days  before  the  election  for  trustees, 
and  not  in  all  the  days  that  Askatoon  had  known  was  there 
such  a  day  as  that  in  which  the  election  occurred.  He 
was  determined  to  have  the  right  to  visit  the  schools  with 
or  without  the  approval  of  the  "  prim,  pious  pedantics," 
as  he  called  them. 

"  I  see  what's  in  his  mind,"  said  Patsy  Kernaghan  to 
the  Young  Doctor. 

"You  have  a  wonderful  eye,  Patsy,"  responded  the 
other.  "There's  no  good  of  us  wearing  clothes  at  all; 
you  see  right  through  us/' 

Patsy  scratched  the  top  of  his  head  with  his  thumb. 
"  Aw,  Doctor,  dear,  it's  only  a  fleabite  to  what  Bill  Minden 
means  to  do.  If  he  gets  in  as  trustee — an*  he  will,  for 
there's  not  twenty  women  in  the  place'll  go  agin'  him,  an' 
ivery  man  as  is  a  man  will  go  for  him — then  he'll  stand  for 
mayor  an'  run  the  damn  place  like  a  switchman  at  a  junc- 
tion. He  won't  talk;  he'll  just  pull  the  lever,  and  there 
it'll  all  be  done  what  he  wants  done,  as  aisy  as  aisy.  He'll 
want  the  Education  Committee  to  go  on  this  track ;  he'll 
want  the  Lightin'  Committee  to  go  on  that  track ;  an'  the 
Sanitary  Committee  on  another  track ;  an*  he  won't  talk — 
he'll  switch  the  lot  of  thim  where  he  wants  thim.  He'll  be 
mayor — that's  what  he'll  be ;  but,  man  alive,  won't  it  be 
fun  whin,  mebbe,  the  judge  that  thried  him  for  stickin'  up 
a  coach'll  visit  the  place,  an'  the  governor  that  signed  his 
pardon'll  be  here  to  pay  us  a  visit !  Who'll  be  receivin' 
thim — who'll  be  receivin'  thim?  Why,  the  new  school- 
trustee,  the  man  that's  goin'  to  be  mayor — Bill  Minden, 
who's  stuck  up  as  manny  trains  an*  coaches  as  he's  got 
fingers  an'  toes ;  Bill  Minden,  that's  got  monney  in  more 


THE  REASON  WHY  185 

banks  than  wan,  and  God  help  thim  if  they  don't  take  care 
of  his  monney !  " 

The  Young  Doctor  smiled  and  patted  Kernaghan's 
shoulder.  "  You're  a  wonderful  little  fellow,  Kernaghan. 
You've  got  a  long  eye ;  you  see  far  ahead ;  and  Minden 
wouldn't  make  a  bad  mayor  either.  I  think  he'll  make 
a  good  school-trustee,  too ;  but  have  you  forgotten  they're 
going  to  elect  a  bishop  when  the  Diocesan  Synod  of  the 
English  Church  meets  here  next  month?  Come  now, 
Patsy,  why  shouldn't  he  stand  for  bishop?" 

Patsy  scratched  his  head  again.  "Aw,  well,  for  a 
Protis'ant  bishop  that'd  be  all  right  It  doesn't  require 
anny  larnin'  to  be  a  Protis'ant  bishop.  There's  no  layin' 
on  of  hands  for  wan  av  thim.  They  just  talk  av  the  grace 
of  hivin  an'  the  outpourin'  of  the  spirit.  Then  the  women 
weep  and  the  men  cough  in  their  hands  when  they're  lec- 
tured— an'  why  not  Bill  Minden  ?  I'd  as  leave  see  him  a 
bishop  as  a  mayor." 

The  Young  Doctor's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Well,  so  would 
I,  Kernaghan.  I  wouldn't  draw  much  distinction.  I'd 
trust  Minden  just  as  much  in  one  office  as  the  other." 

"  Well,  y'r  anner,  that's  not  saying  how  much  ye  trust 
him,  is  it?" 

The  Young  Doctor's  lips  gave  a  quirk.  "  Do  you  hear 
anything  against  him,  Patsy — anything  you  can  lay  your 
hands  on  since  he  came  to  Askatoon  ?  " 

"That's  it,  that's  it,"  answered  the  little  man  from 
Cork ;  "  there's  nawthin'  that  annybody  can  lay  hands  on. 
Wipin'  out  his  past,  what  he's  doin'  now  needs  no  pinince  ; 
but  leadin'  the  life  that  he's  leadin'  now,  isn't  it  a  burnin' 
shame  they  won't  take  him  as  he  is — I  mean  the  Methodies, 
the  Protis'ants,  and  the  newcomers!  They  won't  belave 


1.86  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

in  him  till  he's  been  saved  at  the  '  marcy  seat,  as  they 
call  it." 

The  twinkle  quickened  in  the  Young  Doctor's  eyes. 
"Well,  but  won't  there  be  a  chance  for  that?  Doesn't 
the  big  Methodist  camp-meeting  begin  soon  out  at  Mayo — 
Nolan  Doyle's  place?  What  are  all  the  big  tents  for? 
Isn't  the  Rev.  Ephraim  Masterton,  the  great  revivalist, 
coming  to  save  our  souls  and  put  Father  Roche's  nose  out 
of  joint?" 

Kernaghan  sniffed.  "Aw,  yis,  'tis  true,  as  you  say. 
That  holy  show  opens  in  a  week,  an'  more  shame  to  Nolan 
Doyle,  a  good  Cat'lic,  for  lettin'  his  place  be  used  for  the 
intertainment.  D'ye  think  Bill  Minden,  that  holds  a  place 
of  his  own  in  the  ecclesiastical  wurruld — d'ye  think  that 
that  solitary  figure  of  his  own  persuasion'd  give  the  holy 
Cat'lic  Church  the  pass-by  if  he  was  goin'  annywhere  into 
another  denomination?  Do  ye  think  he'd  bellow  out  his 
pinitince  at  what  they  call  a  '  prothracted  meetin'  ? '  Aw 
no,  Doctor  dear.  We'll  just  go  back  to  the  idee  I  started 
with,  and  it's  this :  Bill  Minden'll  be  elected  school-trustee, 
an'  whin  that's  done  he'll  be  elected  mayor,  and  whin 
that's  done " 

"  Whin  the  toziti's  done-brown,  good-bye  to  William 
Ecclesiasticus  Minden,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor 
provokingly. 

Kernaghan  protested  with  hands  and  head.  "  D'ye 
think  Minden'll  go  back  to  the  ould  ways  of  him — to  the 
train  robbin'  and  stickin'  up  thfc  coach?  D'ye  think  he 
hasn't  enough  money  to  live  on  without  that?  I've  h'ard 
he  has  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.  That's  a 
lot  o'  money.  Can't  a  man  stay  honest  on  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  ?  " 

At  that  moment  several  wagons  went  trailing  past, 


THE  REASON  WHY  187 

carrying1  great  piles  of  tent  cloth,  stakes  and  ropes.  Kerna- 
ghan  stared  at  them  with  swiftly  rising  color.  In  religion 
he  was  a  fanatic,  and  would  have  gone  to  the  stake  to 
defend  the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation  or  papal 
infallibility. 

"  Look  at  it — look  at  it ! "  he  snarled,  "  makin'  a  circus 
of  the  Christian  religion,  doin'  the  heavenly  acrobatic ! " 

His  color  deepened,  his  fingers  opened  and  shut  con- 
vulsively. "  Is  there  no  shame  to  thim,  with  their  per- 
formin'  tricks  like  monkeys  on  a  pole  to  ixcite  the  crowds 
till  they're  crazy  as  loons  an*  think  they've  *  got  religion '? 
They'll  be  preachin'  about  the  burnin'  fiery  furnace  an'  the 
perpetual  wurm,  but  plaze  God  send  a  little  prairie  fire 
to  burn  up  their  tints  and  wipe  out  the  shame  of  it ! " 

"  Come,  come,  Patsy,"  admonished  the  Young  Doctor, 
"  that  won't  do.  '  Live  and  let  live/  you  know.  Minden 
reads  his  Bible  in  coram  publico,  and  you  wouldn't  think 
less  of  him  if  he  praised  the  Lord  in  a  tent." 

"  Aw,  I'll  tell  ye  what,"  answered  Kernaghan,  with  the 
spasm  of  passion  passing,  but  a  sullen  look  remaining  in 
his  eyes,  "when  I  see  Bill  Minden  doin'  that,  I'll  go  into 
the  desert  like  John  the  Baptis'  an'  think  a  bit,  an'  a  bit 
more  afther  that — aw,  look,  Doctor  dear,  there's  Bill 
Minden  now  on  his  way  to  the  school — to  the  Central 
School !  It's  a  Friday  afternoon,  an'  he'll  be  lettin'  him- 
self go  to  the  boys  an'  gurls." 

The  Young  Doctor  looked  quizzically  at  Kernaghan. 
"  And  showing  off  before  Miss  Finley,  eh  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"Aw,  that!  That's  no  showin' aff  about  it.  Shure  he 
drops  his  eyes  wfain  he  looks  at  her,  like  a  bit  of  a  boy  tin 
years  old." 

The  other  broke  into  a  happy  laugh.  "  Oh,  Patsy, 
Patsy  Kernaghan,  what  Irish  bulls  you  make  and  what  an 


188  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

Irish  calf  you  are — '  He  drops  his  eyes  when  he  looks 
at  her!'" 

The  Young  Doctor  nevertheless  begun  to  wonder  why 
Bill  Minden  "  dropped  his  eyes." 

He  also  began  to  think  of  what  he  himself  said  on  the 
very  first  day  of  Bill  Minden's  arrival  in  Askatoon,  when 
the  crowd  gossiped  about  the  notorious  one  in  front  of 
Rigby's  drug  store.  He  had  said  to  Father  Roche  then : 
"  If  we  only  knew  exactly  why  a  man  did  some  certain 
thing  in  his  life,  perhaps  some  very  small  thing,  we  should 
know  his  whole  character.  Now  perhaps  if  we  knew 
exactly  why  Bill  Minden  went  to  that  school  this  afternoon 
we  should  have  a  Book  of  Revelations." 

He  was  a  man  of  insight  and  understanding,  and  he  had 
never  ceased  to  wonder  why  Minden  interested  himself 
so  in  the  Central  School,  or  why  he  had  come  to  Askatoon. 
Somehow  the  two  things  seemed  one  in  his  mind,  as  though 
each  depended  on  the  other.  That  Minden  should  show 
such  interest  in  the  town  itself,  and  that  he  should  become 
school-trustee,  seemed  one  piece  in  which  Cora  Finley 
was  part  of  the  mosaic.  He  was  sure  there  was  an  associa- 
tion with  a  mystery  in  the  background.  Bill  Minden, 
the  ex-criminal,  the  notorious  highwayman,  turned  peace- 
ful, pious  citizen,  dropping  his  eyes  when  he  looked  at  a 
girl,  could  only  be  explained  by  a  law  at  work  and  not  as 
one  of  life's  vagaries. 

The  Young  Doctor  had  seen  and  heard  nothing  which 
gave  him  a  clue,  and  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Finley  was  the  most 
implacable  of  Bill  Minden's  critics  added  another  twist 
to  the  knot.  If,  however,  he  could  have  witnessed  a  scene 
in  Mrs.  Finley's  house  that  night  about  nine  o'clock  he 
would  have  found  a  reason  for  everything  that  puzzled 
him. 


THE  REASON  WHY  189 

Mrs.  Finley  was  sitting  alone  in  her  little  parlor,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  into  the  increasing  darkness,  through 
which  faint  stars  twinkled,  when  she  was  startled  by  a 
heavy  footfall  on  the  gravel  path  outside.  Rising,  she 
stood  for  a  moment  hesitating  what  to  do,  for  the  footstep 
had  an  ominous  sound,  she  knew  not  why.  She  was  not 
possessed  by  fear,  though  she  was  alone,  Cora  having  gone 
to  choir-practice.  She  had  the  sense  of  safety  of  the 
elect  who  believe  in  the  foreordained.  It  was  the  par- 
ticular nature  of  the  footstep  that  startled  her ;  for  some- 
how it  recalled  a  night  twenty-two  years  before,  when  her 
life  took  a  turn  in  a  new  direction  and  had  so  continued. 
Now  her  brain  cleared,  and  she  hastened  into  the  hallway 
as  the  heavy  footstep  stopped,  and  a  hand  knocked  on  the 
lintel  of  the  open  door. 

"Come  in,"  she  said.  "What  do  you  want?"  she 
added  quickly  in  slight  agitation. 

"  It's  Bill  Minden,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  she  persisted,  her  voice  a  little 
querulous  now. 

"A  word  with  you — just  a  word  or  two,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  There  were  to  be  no  more  words  forever,"  she 
rejoined. 

"  It's  twenty-two  years,  and  I  want  you  to  let  me 
break  my  promise.  We're  getting  old  and  you  never  can 
tell  what'll  happen,"  Minden  urged. 

She  gave  a  great  sigh.  "  Then  wait  till  I  pull  down  the 
blinds  and  light  up,"  was  her  response. 

"  No,  don't  light  up,"  he  pleaded,  stepping  inside  the 
hallway.  "  I  haven't  come  here  to  do  any  harm,  as  you 
know.  It's  quieter  in  the  dusk;  the  mind  keeps  steady- 
like  when  there's  no  light.  It's  like  a  blanket.  Blind 


190  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

people  are  always  quiet,  an'  I've  had  to  keep  my  eyes  so 
wide  open,  and  I've  been  going  so  hard  for  so  long,  that 
I  can  stand  more  dark  than  light.  Eighteen  hours'  dark 
in  a  day  wouldn't  be  too  much  for  me  now." 

"  You  talk  like  a  poetry-book,"  Mrs.  Finley  replied, 
with  hardness  in  her  tone.  "  Seems  like  Askatoon  makes 
you  a  bit  childish." 

An  almost  animal-like  grunt  came  from  Bill  Minden's 
lips.  It  had  protest,  agreement,  anger,  and  friendliness 
all  in  one ;  but  he  did  not  retort  in  words. 

"  I'm  going  to  light  up,"  she  repeated,  and  went  quickly 
into  the  room  from  which  she  had  come. 

From  the  hallway  Minden  heard  the  blinds  pulled 
down,  and  presently  a  lighted  lamp  was  placed  on  the 
round  centre-table,  which  held  a  Bible  and  a  photograph- 
album. 

"  She'll  scratch — maybe  bite,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  but 
she's  all  right.  She  only  wants'handlin'.  I've  got  to  get 
what  I  come  for." 

Presently  the  set,  assertive  figure  of  the  woman  made 
its  appearance  again.  "  You  can  come  in  now,"  she  said 
with  no  kindness  in  her  voice. 

Determined  goodness  was  written  in  her  face.  Her 
forehead  was  a  little  too  high  for  generosity,  a  little  too 
narrow  for  benevolence,  yet  from  the  somewhat  peaked 
crown  to  the  watchful  brown  eyes  there  were  veneration 
and  will  quietly  enthroned.  Precision,  routine,  sober  neat- 
ness marked  everything  she  was  and  everything  she  did. 
Her  hair,  carefully  crimped  and  partially  covering  her 
ears,  showed  some  acute  strain  of  vanity  still  actively 
alive.  The  big  cameo  brooch  at  her  throat  suggested  an 
acquired  social  position  which  lay  between,  say,  the 
seamstress  and  the  druggist,  or  perhaps  the  girl-clerk  and. 


THE  REASON  WHY  191 

the  big  store-keeper.  She  was  dressed  as  though  "  pre- 
pared for  company,"  as  the  Askatoon  people  called  it ;  yet 
it  was  only  part  of  her  regular  life  and  custom.  She  was 
always  "  prepared  for  company."  She  washed  dishes  with 
a  cloth  tied  to  the  end  of  a  stick,  she  made  fires  with  gloves 
on.  She  was  the  very  pattern  of  precision. 

There  was  something  forbidding  about  her,  and  yet 
something  also  which  made  Minden's  eyes  light  up  with 
satisfaction.  He  had  seen  her  several  times  since  he  came 
to  Askatoon,  but  nearly  always  at  a  distance.  Once  or 
twice  he  had  passed  her  in  the  street,  but  she  had  given 
him  no  chance  of  addressing  her.  Once  he  went  to  the 
Methodist  Meeting  House  on  the  chance  of  seeing  her. 
She  had,  however,  only  come  for  the  prayer-meeting,  not 
for  the  regular  service  beforehand ;  and  as  it  was  not  for 
him  to  stay  to  the  prayer-meeting,  he  had  had  only  a 
glimpse  of  her  as  she  went  softly  yet  austerely  to  her  pew, 
the  positidn  of  which  accurately  defined  her  social  status, 
in  Askatoon. 

Bill  had  never  till  now  £ot  her  absolutely  into  his  eye 
since  his  arrival  in  Askatoon.  A  wonderful  shining  look 
of  approval  came  into  his  face,  as  he  took  her  all  in  with 
the  trained  eye  of  one  who  had  so  much  lived  by  its  train- 
ing, by  the  deftness  of  the  hand  and  the  courage  of  the 
mind. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him 
steadfastly  now. 

Be  shrugged  his  huge  shoulders  good-humoredly. 
"  You  know,  when  you  say  that  in  the  light  like  this  it 
sounds  sharper  than  when  you  said  it  in  the  dark.  Couldn't 
you  turn  down  the  lamp  a  bit?  I'd  like  to  hear  you 
talk,"  he  added.  "  I  haven't  heard  your  voice  for  twenty- 
two  years.  I  don't  think  it's  changed  any;  but  if  you 


192  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

wasn't  so  religious  and  so  particular,  I'd  say  you'd  more 
bones  in  your  stays  than  you  used  to — a  bit  stiff,  missus,  a 
bit  stiff  to  an  old  friend." 

A  slight  flush  passed  over  her  face.  She  resented  the 
reference  to  her  stays,  but  she  waved  her  hand  vaguely 
into  the  space  around  her,  as  it  were,  and  said :  "  Where 
be  you  goin'  to  sit  ?  " . 

He  looked  at  the  horse-hair  sofa  which  had  as  little 
attraction  for  him  as  it  had  for  the  pretty  school  teacher, 
Cora,  whose  clothes  and  the  wearing  of  whose  clothes 
suggested  taste ;  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I'd  like  the  rocker,  if  I  could  take  the  lace  curtain  off 
it,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  crochet  work  antimacassar 
covering  the  back  of  the  rocking-chair. 

"  Oh,  it  washes,"  she  answered  dryly,  "  and  I  see  you 
don't  oil  your  hair !  Leave  it  be." 

He  beamed  over  her,  grinned  broadly,  and  lowered 
himself  comfortably  into  the  capacious  rocker.  "  Say, 
you've  kep'  your  word,  'Liza  Finley,"  he  said  presently. 
"  My  gracious  goodness,  yes,  you've  kep'  your  word. 
You  earned  them  three  thousand  dollars — you  earned 
them ;  and  three  times  three  thousand  dollars  you  earned. 
My,  what  you've  gone  and  done  and  been  to  that  gal — 
to  that  blessed  babe  I  put  into  your  arms  twenty-two 
years  ago ! " 

"  It  wasn't  hard  to  do  my  duty  by  her.  If  you  have  a 
daughter  you  do  your  duty  by  her,"  said  the  other,  with'  a 
face  that  relaxed  somewhat,  but  with"  underlying  antagon- 
ism in  her  tone. 

The  good-natured  smile  died  away  from  Minden's  lips. 
"  You  needn't  rub  it  in,"  he  said  huskily.  "  'Course  she's 
your  daughter.  I  give  her  to  you  twenty-two  years  ago, 
because  I  was  a  law-breaker,  an'  her  mother  was  dead,  an' 


THE  REASON  WHY  193 

I  knew  I  never  could  run  straight,  an'  I  couldn't  bring  her 
up  proper.  I  give  her  to  you  because  I  couldn't  bear  that 
when  she  grew  up  she'd  know  her  father  was  what  he  was 
going  to  be — a  jail  bird.  I  knew  I'd  be  a  jail  bird. 
I  knew  it  had  to  come,  an'  it  did.  So  I  give  her  to  you 
an'  your  Steve  with  the  last  dollars  I  had — three  thousand, 
it  was — for  you  to  love  her  an'  bring  her  up  to  be  yours 
evermore.  An'  you  done  it  because  you  had  no  child  of 
your  own,  an'  you  wanted  one  an'  Steve  wanted  one,  an' 
you  couldn't  give  him  one.  It  looked  as  if  my  wife  died 
just  to  give  you  hers.  Mebbe  that's  how  it  was,  for 
though  she  had  a  wide  mind  she  couldn't  have  lived  with 
me  without  having  her  pride  hurt.  An'  I've  kep'  away 
from  you,  an'  I've  kep'  my  word  for  twenty-two  years — 
now,  haven't  I  ?  An'  ain't  she  a  flower  of  the  prairie  ? 
Ain't  she  worth  all  you've  done  for  her,  'Liza  Finley? 
You  look  like  a  graven  image,  but  you've  got  the  heart 
the  mother  of  Moses  didn't  have;  you've  got  the  heart 
of  Pharaoh's  daughter." 

She  made  a  sharp  effort  to  stand  him  off.  "  You  had 
no  business  to  come ;  you've  broke  your  word ;  you've  got 
no  rights  here.  Cora  believes  she's  my  child,  and  mebbe 
I  love  her  better  than  any  child  I  might  have  had,  just 
because  she  had  no  mother  of  her  own,  and  my  duty  said 
I  must  be  more  partic'ler  for  her  because  she  was  a  trust. 
When  she  come  back  from  school  and  told  about  a  strange 
man  speaking  to  her  the  first  day  you  come  to  Askatoon,  I 
knew  it  was  you.  You  can  make  up  your  mind  " — again 
her  lips  became  set,  her  face  hardened,  her  figure  stiffened 
— "  you  can  make  up  your  mind  you're  not  going  to  have 
her." 

Minden  half  rose  from  his  seat,  but  fell  back  with  a 
helpless  gesture.  "  What  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  "  he  pro- 
13 


i94  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

tested.  "  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  what's  good  for  her  ? 
I've  been  in  jail  three  times  since  I  handed  her  over  to 
you.  You've  brought  her  up  like  a  lady — like  a  lady; 
you've  give  her  a  good  schooling  you've  made  her  the 
choice  and  special  fruit  of  this  here  garden.  D'you  think 
I'm  not  proud  of  it,  an'  of  her  an*  of  what  you've  done? 
D'you  think  I  don't  sit  right  down  and  say, '  Bill  Minden, 
you  done  the  right  thing  when,  bein'  sure  you  was  goin' 
to  the  devil,  you  put  your  little  gal  on  the  heavenly  path  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  come  here  for,  then  ?  "  persisted  the 
apprehensive  woman,  not  yielding  her  rigidity. 

He  waved  an  ingratiating  hand  to  her.  "  Haven't  I 
told  you?  Just  to  look  at  her  an'  be  near  her;  just  to 
see  what  Bill  Minden  himself  might  ha'  been  if  he'd  took 
it  in  his  head  to  go  right  at  the  start.  'Liza  Finley,  I've 
got  a  good  heart  an'  I've  got  a  good  head,  an'  my  feelings 
belong  to  the  holy  way,  but  my  tastes  and  habits  get  loose 


"  On  the  broad  path  that  leadeth  to  destruction,"  she 
interjected. 

He  would  not  be  provoked.  "  I  tell  you,  'Liza  Finley, 
I  understand  every  holy  feeling  you've  got  an'  that  my 
girl's  got." 

Again  she  protested.  "  Not  your  girl,  but  my  girl,  that 
for  twenty-two  years  I've  cared  for,  from  the  day  I  un- 
pinned her  and  put  her  in  her  cot  till  now  when  I  tuck  her 
in  at  night,  and  she  says,  *  Bless  you,  mammy ! ' ' 

Minden's  eyes  blinked.  As  he  himself  said,  he  had  a 
good  heart.  "I  know  all  that,"  he  remarked.  "You 
don't  need  to  say  it.  But  I'm  getting  old  and  lonely  an' 
sick  of  the  broad,  stony  highway.  I  want  peace.  I've 
got  enough  money  to  keep  me  till  the  end  of  the  trail, 
an' " 


J 
THE  REASON  WHY  195 

"But  how  did  you  get  the  money?"  she  interjected 
scornfully.  "  How  did  you  come  by  it  ?  Do  you  think 
an  honest  girl  or  any  honest  man  or  woman  would  share 
your  stealings  ?  " 

"Don't  be  so  hard,"  Bill  replied  soothingly.  "You 
don't  know  how  I  got  it ;  an'  anyway,  your  own  Methodist 
church  took  two  hundred  dollars  of  it  the  other  day  for  the 
new  organ,  an'  the  Baptists  an'  the  Presbyterians  an'  the 
Holy  Romans  have  took  what  I  give  them,  to  say  nothin* 
of  the  hospitals  an'  the  charity  plants.  They  all  grab  it, 
however  I  got  it;  an*  anyway,  ain't  it  right  they  should? 
If  it  was  got  dishonest,  why  not  give  it  to  honest  people,  to 
the  good  people,  to  the  prayer  people?  See  here,  'Liza 
Finley,  what  I've  got  I've  got,  an'  it  can't  be  give  back. 
What's  the  good  of  try  in'  to  give  back  a  lot  of  money  to  a 
lot  of  people  that  robbed  a  lot  of  other  people,  that  stole 
from  their  bosom  friends,  that  burgled  their  grand- 
mothers ?  Don't  you  see  you  can't  trace  back  the  origin 
of  what  I've  got?" 

Mrs.  Finley  shook  her  head  in  repudiation.  "  Suppose 
they  all  were  thieves  way  back  to  Adam,  that's  no  excuse 
why  you  should  be  a  thief  in  the  sight  o'  the  Lord." 

Minden  scratched  his  head,  smacked  his  lips,  then 
grinned  broadly.  "  Say,  you've  got  me — got  me  like  a 
piece  of  toast  on  a  fork,  but  don't  you  see  that's  a  bill 
I've  got  to  settle  myself,  and  don't  you  see  that's  a  bill  that 
I'm  settlin'  myself  ?  Because  of  what  I  done  it  ain't  for 
me  to  have  the  one  thing  that's  worth  living  for,  the  one 
thing  that  I've  got  pride  in,  the  one  thing  that'd  make 
my  old  age  peaceable,  if  not  pious — my  little  darlin'  gal. 
That's  what  I  pay,  Missus,  and  by  gosh — I  beg  your  par- 
don, I  ain't  goin'  to  swear — that's  what  I  pay,  an'  have  got 
to  keep  on  payin'." 


196  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  If  you  was  only  a  good  man,"  she  remarked,  her 
features  relaxing  now ;  "  if  you  only  had  religion,  if  you'd 
only  found  grace  and  the  Spirit  had  entered  into  you, 

why,  then " 

But  now  he  interrupted  with  a  swift  wave  of  his  capa- 
cious hand.  "  No,  no,  no  1  What  you  say  now  makes  me 
see  I  care  for  her  ten  times  as  much  as  you  do.  D'you? 
think  that  if  I  riz'  up  from  the  anxious-seat  to-morrow, 
an'  said,  '  I've  found  it,  I've  found  it,  I've  got  religion, 
I'm  saved ! ' — do  you  think  that'd  make  any  difference  ? 
No,  no,  not  any.  My  gal,  my  little  gal,  gosh  Almighty ! — 
I  beg  your  pardon,  twict — no,  she  ain't  never  to  know  that 
Bill  Minden,  that's  done  time,  that  Bill  Minden,  who's 
plenty  notorious,  is  her  father.  She's  got  to  think  always 
that  Steve  and  'Liza  Finley  was  her  father  and  her  mother ; 
she's  got  to  have  a  clean  family  history.  She's  too  good 
to  be  tarred  by  me.  I  know  my  place.  I  tell  you  I  know 
my  place,  an'  I'm  up  agin*  the  everlastin'  fact  that  I 
got  to  die  without  her  saying  to  me  onct,  even  onct, 
'  Father ! '  Don't  you  be  so  hard.  You're  good,  but  don't 
you  be  so  shy  about  givin'  the  glad  hand  to  them  that  can't 
never  say, '  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  I  shall  not  want'  I 
b'long  to  them  that'll  have  to  go  on  wantin'  and  not 
gettin'." 

Now  there  was  a  faint  tremor  of  the  woman's  lips. 
She  was  suddenly  lost  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  bigger  world 
than  she  had  ever  known.  "If  you  don't  want  to  take  her 
away,  what  is  it  you  do  want  ?  "  she  asked  helplessly. 

He  leaned  forward  towards  her  eagerly.  "  I'd  like  to 
be  able  to  come  here  sometimes,  to  make  friends  with  you 
and  her — not  bosom  friends,  not  like  peas  in  the  same 
social  pod,  but  as  a  bad  man  with  a  good  heart  that  you 
was  bein'  kind  to.  That  would  be  enough  for  me — just  to 


THE  REASON  WHY  197 

be  near  her,  to  watch  her,  to  see  her  look  this  way  and 
that,  an'  speak  this  how  an'  that  how,  an'  doin'  the  little 
things  that  show  a  woman  off.  That's  why  I'm  goin'  to  be 
school-trustee,  that's  why  I'm  goin'  to  be  mayor,  if  I  can, 
just  to  make  me  look  a  bit  all  right  in  her  eyes.  'Liza 
Finley,  I've  talked  to  you  more  to-night  than  I've  ever 
talked  for  thirty  years,  an'  I've  let  myself  go,  because 
I  couldn't  hold  in  any  longer.  Now  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it  all?" 

{He  looked  round  the  room  with  almost  hungry  eyes. 
"  I  ain't  had  a  home  for  twenty-two  years,"  he  went  on. 
"I've  lived  inside  any  old  house  an*  in  any  old  room 
without  reg'lar  standin*  anywhere;  just  pay  in',  pay  in', 
payin'  for  anythin'  I  ever  got;  payin'  for  kindness  just 
as  I  paid  for  a  corn-husk  bed,  or  milk,  or  old  rye,  or  a 
week's  washin'.  I'd  like  a  home  same  as  this — well,  maybe 
not  the  same  as  this  every  way,  for  I  don't  need  carpets 
and  antimacassars ;  but  still  just  a  pleasant  place  same's 
this,  where  I'd  sit  down  and  spread  out  my  feet  an'  look 
round  an'  say,  '  Now,  gals,  anything  you  want  to  make 
this  home  happy  is  yours.'  " 

Mrs.  Finley  rose  to  her  feet  in  an  agitation  she  could 
not  conceal.  "  I've  got  to  think  it  over,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  can't  think  right  with  you  sitting  there  talking.  The 
way  you  talk  you  could  almost  make  the  mountains  get 
up  and  walk ;  but  I  got  to  do  my  duty.  I'm  a  Christian, 
I'm  a  class-leader,  I've  got  religion,  and  I  don't  want  any 
traffic  in  unrighteousness." 

"The  world  wouldn't  be  saved  if  the  good  people 
clidn't  look  after  the  bad,"  remarked  Minden  shrewdly. 

The  woman  picked  at  her  skirt  nervously — it  was 
strange  how  this  man  moved  her.  "  Cora'll  be  back  in  a 


h 
198  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

minute,"  she  said  anxiously.    "  It's  almost  her  time,  and  I 
don't  want  you  here  when  she  comes." 

Minden  nodded,  and  rose  up  slowly  from  the  rocking- 
chair,  the  antimacassar  clinging  to  his  shoulders.  Mrs. 
Finley  stepped  quickly  to  him  and  relieved  him  of  the 
ludicrous  burden.  As  she  did  so,  Bill  caught  her  hand 
and  spoke  quickly : 

"  You  saw  your  duty  clear  when  you  took  my  gal  from 
me  an'  made  your  bond,  which  you've  kept  like  a  Christian 
of  the  caticombs.  Well,  you'll  see  your  duty  again  just 
as  I  saw  it  for  you  twenty-two  years  ago.  You  know  that 
dandy  hymn,  '  For  I  can  read  my  title  clear  to  mansions 
in  the  skies '  ?  Well,  you've  got  a  clear  title  for  that  sky- 
gal  that  once  was  mine.  She's  yours  forever ;  she  loves 
you ;  an'  all  I  want  is  a  little  reservation  on  the  prairie-land 
your  title  covers.  You  can  dole  out  the  rations — an'  don't 
be  stingy,  'Liza  Finley." 

"  I  have  got  to  pray  over  it — that's  a  fact,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I've  got  to  take  it  to  the  throne  of  grace." 

Bill  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  in  these  days  the 
throne  stoops  kindly  to  democracy,  an'  I'll  take  my 
chance,"  he  said  as  he  put  on  his  hat. 

It  sounded  as  though  he  were  making  light  of  sacred 
things,  but  Mrs.  Finley  did  not  misunderstand;  it  was 
only  "  the  manner  o'  speakin' "  of  the  country. 

"  You  must  go,"  she  urged.  "  Cora'll  be  here  any 
minute  now ;  but  I'll  let  you  know,  I'll  truly  let  you  know 
•what  the  Lord  tells  me  to  do." 

Three  minutes  later,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  street, 
'Bill  Minden  and  his  daughter  passed  each  other;  but, 
unlike  ships  that  pass  in  the  night,  they  did  not  speak  to 
each  other  in  passing.  It  was  too  dark  for  Cora  to  see 
who  it  was,  though  her  father  knew,  and  he  listened  to 
her  footsteps  till  he  could  hear  them  no  longer. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  CAMP  MEETING 

REVIVAL  meetings  are  generally  held  in  great  halls  or 
churches,  but  the  strikingly  successful  revival  meeting  at 
Mayo,  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch,  was  held  in  tents,  and  it  was 
therefore  called  a  camp  meeting.  It  was  the  first  that 
had  ever  been  held  between  Winnipeg  and  the  Rockies. 
Therefore,  the  population  of  Askatoon  was  numerously 
reinforced  by  the  religious  pilgrim  from  outside,  and  also 
by  the  inquisitive  sinner  who  came  to  see,  be  seen,  and 
enjoy  whatever  sensation  the  pious  exercises  might  beget. 
To  these  was  added  the  visitor  and  citizen,  who  was  neither 
religious  nor  simple,  but  who  had  pursued  his  way  without 
being  convicted  of  unrighteousness  on  the  one  hand  or 
being  reputed  irreligious  on  the  other.  His  particular 
conversion,  when  it  came,  was  no  sensation ;  he  was  simply 
convicted  of  original  sin  and  the  need  for  finding  salva- 
tion. His  consequent  pain,  agony,  and  spiritual  disturb- 
ance were  indispensable  to  a  proper  passage  from  the 
ranks  of  the  unsaved  to  the  saved.  He  received  the 
sympathy  of  those  who  went  about  embracing,  exhorting, 
and  whispering  comfort ;  but  his  capture  caused  less  re- 
joicing than  when  some  real  outcast,  some  acknowledged 
sinner,  reprobate,  drunkard,  evil-liver,  or  scoffer,  bent  to 
the  spiritual  storm  and  strove  with  the  spirit,  until  at  last, 
tossing  upon  the  sea  of  emotion,  he  felt  his  fingers  grip  the 
bulwark  of  the  ship  of  salvation.  Then,  lifted  on  a  wave 
of  passion  to  its  safe  deck,  he  cried  out,  "I'm  saved! 
Saved !  Bless  the  Lord !  "  while  all  around  him  rose  the 
cry  of  "  Glory !  Glory !  "  with  all  the  emotional  ejacula- 

199 


200  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

tions  which  signified  that  a  soul  was  snatched  from  the 
'burning. 

The  great  revivalist  preacher,  Ephraim  Masterton, 
was  a  reaper  without  a  rival  so  far  as  the  West  had 
known.  In  the  great  tent  he  alternately  prayed  and 
exhorted,  blessed  and  wept,  soothed  and  clamored,  and 
exultingly  embraced  the  conquered  ones,  translated  from 
the  anxious-seat  to  the  platform  of  the  saved  with  its 
spectacular  joy. 

Never  was  there  a  greater  emotional  intoxication,  never 
a  greater  "  outpouring  of  the  spirit."  It  was  just  after 
the  harvest,  the  weather  was  still  delightfully,  indeed 
amorously,  warm,  and  in  the  lull  that  followed  the  stren- 
uous activities  of  the  wheat  harvest — or  the  almost  com- 
plete harvest — the  fervid  air  of  exalted  sentiment  was 
highly  stimulating.  It  was  perhaps  unfortunate  that,  while 
the  tents  were  pitched  in  the  open,  there  was  very  near 
by  a  grove  of  trees  offering  invitations  to  the  pleasures  of 
indolence.  The  cynic  might  well  be  scornful  of  the  too 
neighborly  association  of  the  Godly  love  in  the  tents  in 
the  open  and  the  profane  love  in  the  grove  that  shadowed 
them. 

The  Young  Doctor  scratched  his  chin  in  reflection  when 
Terence  Brennan,  the  millionaire  railway-owner  and 
randier,  fresh  from  a  hasty  visit  to  the  camp  meeting  made 
out  of  curiosity  while  paying  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Nolan 
Doyle,  his  sister,  said  to  him :  "  Did  you  ever  read  Bobby 
Burns's  'Holy  Fair'"?  And  when  the  Young  Doctor 
nodded  in  reply,  added  cynically:  "  '  And  mony  a  job  be- 
gun that  day  will  end  in  hockmagandy/  or  some  ither 
place." 

The  Young  Doctor's  reply  was  a  little  severe.  After 
all,  Terence  Brennan  was  an  absentee  millionaire  who 


THE  CAMP  MEETING  201 

could  afford  any  pleasure  he  wanted,  and,  therefore,  could 
more  easily  escape  the  divine  discontent  possessing  those 
whose  field  of  life  is  limited,  whose  pleasures  mental  and 
emotions  spiritual  are  few. 

"  It's  no  bad  thing  to  get  back  into  the  primitive  life 
and  to  the  primary  emotions,"  he  said.  "  You  are  too 
incredulous,  Brennan.  '  Evil  to  him  that  evil  thinks.' 
Also  you  are  a  Catholic,  and  prejudiced.  I'm  for  letting 
aspiring  human  nature  aspire ;  I'm  for  letting  humanity 
cry  out  to  something  outside  itself,  to  think  of  something 
outside  itself,  to  reach  a  bit  higher  than  it  is.  Catholics 
and  Protestants,  Mohammedans  and  Hindus,  and  all  the 
rest,  do  it  in  different  ways.  One  tribe  does  it  this  way, 
another  tribe  does  it  that  way,  and  you  can't  help  it  if  now 
and  again  there's  a  bad  egg  in  a  basket.  You're  doing 
very  well  out  of  Askatoon,  Brennan.  It  contributed  its 
share  of  your  railway  profits,  and  you'd  better  let  us  work 
out  our  own  salvation.  In  fear  and  trembling  of  course 
it  will  be — fear  that  you'll  raise  your  freight  rates  on  us ; 
but  for  heaven's  sake  let  us  live  our  own  life.  You  selfish 
millionaires  are  critical  because  your  souls  are  so  small." 

Brennan  laughed  good-naturedly.  He  loved  attack ; 
it  was  the  breath  of  life  to  him. 

"  There,  there ;  I'll  give  you  the  chips  for  the  game," 
he  replied.  "  You  can  say  you've  won;  but  you're  right; 
I'm  in  a  mood  to  be  critical  of  Askatoon,  so  I  suppose  I'm 
not  a  really  good  judge  of  your  holy  fair." 

"Wherefore  critical?"  asked  the  Young  Doctor,  his 
mind,  as  always,  alert  for  every  shiver  of  color  in  the 
kaleidoscope  of  life. 

Brennan  chuckled  and  lit  a  cigar.  "  Well,  Bill  Minden 
in  Askatoon — Bill  Minden  as  school-trustee,  Bill  Minden 
standing  for  mayor,  Bill  Minden  as  the  fatherly  philan- 


202  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

thropist,  patting  the  school  children  on  the  head,  chucking 
the  young  lady  teacher  under  the  chin,  magnetizing  the 
town  and  corporation  with  a  wave  of  his  bonnie  brown 
hand — well,  isn't  that  enough  to  make  a  railway  president 
critical  of  Askatoon  ?  Once  to  my  knowledge,  and  twice 
to  my  instinct,  Bill  Minden  has  gone  through  the  pockets 
of  the  passengers  of  my  trains,  and  has  scooped  the  gold 
dollars  from  the  express  car,  and  here  he  is  now  the  pet 
lamb  of  the  fold!" 

"  Is  that  why  you  are  here  ?  "  asked  the  Young  Doctor. 

"  You  ought  to  know  better.  Isn't  my  family  here — 
Norah  Doyle  out  at  Mayo  and  my  father  and  mother  ?  I 
didn't  know  that  Minden  was  in  Askatoon  till  I  saw  him 
at  the  camp  meeting  this  afternoon ;  till  I  saw  him  getting 
inside  the  big  tent  with  a  look  on  his  face  like  the  Queen 
of  Sheba  when  she  met  Solomon.  It  beats  me.  What's 
he  here  for  ?  What's  his  game  ?  " 

"Well,  some  men,  when  they've  tired  of  doing  the 
wtorld,  seek  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land," 
answered  the  Young  Doctor.  "When  you're  tired  of 
doing  the  world,  Brennan,  when  you've  finished '  watering 
stock  *  in  the  cities,  perhaps  you'll  come  too  and  water  the 
onions  in  your  own  back  garden  here — like  a  king  who, 
having  had  everything  the  world  can  offer,  in  the  spirit  of 
the  sybarite  turns  hermit,  and  tries  the  simple  life  from 
the  sheer  luxury  of  living." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,"  answered  the  millionaire. 
"  The  gay  Griselda,  finding  the  candle  of  enjoyment  all 
burnt  up  and  only  the  black  snuff  left,  comes  and  lights 
the  wick  again  at  the  altar  of  the  church,  and  ends  her  days 
in  peace,  properly  penitent,  pleasantly  pious,  prudently 
prepared." 

The  Young  Doctor  roared  with  laughter.   "  Brennan, 


THE  CAMP  MEETING  203 

you've  been  listening  to  Bill  Minden.  That's  his  game, 
and  you've  caught  on.  Alliteration  is  a  disease  with  him. 
A  choicer  vocabulary  I've  never  known." 

"  Suppose  the  camp  meeting  catches  him — converts 
him,  eh?" 

"  Well,  that  would  please  Mrs.  Finley,"  remarked  the 
Young  Doctor  with  a  meaning  smile. 

"  Mrs.  Finley  ?  Oh,  old  Steve  Finley's  widow,  eh  ?  Is 
she  making  up  to  Bill  ?  " 

"  No,  but  she  seems  to  have  a  fancy  for  saving  his  soul, 
and  she  has  offered  up  petitions  in  the  prayer-meeting 
pretty  constantly  of  late  that  Bill,  shall  be  snatched  from 
the  burning." 

The  two  men  had  walked  along  the  street  until  they 
had  almost  reached  the  door  of  the  post-office.  At  that 
moment  Cora  Finley  stepped  out  of  the  post-office  door, 
and  with  eyes  alight  and  excitement  in  her  face  came 
quickly  towards  the  Young  Doctor,  nodding  to  Terence 
Brennan  at  the  same  time. 

"  Oh,  what  do  you  suppose  has  happened  ?  "  she  said. 
"  Mr.  Masterton  has  had  a  stroke,  or  something,  at  the 
camp  meeting,  and  they're  bringing  him  in  to  Askatoon." 

Terence  Brennan  looked  at  the  girl  inquiringly,  then 
said:  "I've  only  just  come  from  there.  I  didn't  hear 
of  it." 

"That's  easily  explained/'  she  answered.  "There 
was  no  school  to-day,  the  telegraph  operator  wanted  to 
go  to  the  camp  meeting,  and  I've  taken  her  place  at  the 
key.  You  know,  I  learned  telegraphy  a  long  time  ago," 
she  added  to  the  Young  Doctor.  "  There's  a  branch  line 
to  Mayo,  where  the  camp  meeting  is,  and  I've  just  got 
the  news  over  the  wire.  They're  bringing  him  in." 


204  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  So  endeth  the  spiritual  free-and-easy,"  remarked 
Brennan,  with  an  ironical  smile. 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed.  "  You  wouldn't  understand," 
she  said ;  "  you're  a  Roman  Catholic." 

"  No,  I  suppose  I  wouldn't  understand,"  the  young 
millionaire  drawled  pleasantly.  "  It  wants  a  sensitive 
mind  like  Bill  Minden's  to  grasp  such  things." 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  indignation.  "  Some  men  sin 
and  pay,  like  Mr.  Minden,"  she  said,  "  and  others  sin  and 
don't  pay." 

"  Why  should  they  if  they  don't  have  to?  "  cheerfully 
retorted  the  millionaire. 

"  Those  that  sin  and  are  sorry,  and  suffer  and  pay  now, 
don't  have  to  pay  in  the  end,"  she  replied  severely. 

"Well,  I'll  put  it  off  as  long  as  possible,"  remarked 
iBrennan — " '  Jordan  is  a  hard  road  to  travel.' " 

The  Young  Doctor's  eyes  had  been  searching  the  girl's 
face  with  a  curious,  almost  set  intentness.  Something  in 
her  dark  blue  eyes  riveted  his  attention. 

"  I  see  it,"  he  said  to  himself  suddenly,  and  with  a 
thumping  of  his  heart,  "  By  George,  I  see  it  1 " 

A  moment  afterwards  the  three  had  separated,  the  girl 
to  go  back  to  the  post-office,  the  millionaire  to  mount  his 
horse  and  gallop  away  to  the  pleasant  little  home  where 
his  old  father  and  mother  peacefully  lived  in  the  plenty  he 
provided. 

The  Young  Doctor  went  to  his  office.  I  f  Masterton,  the 
revivalist,  had  had  a  stroke,  they  would  be  sure  to  send 
for  him,  or  to  bring  the  sick  man  to  him ;  and  he  must  be 
ready  for  the  emergency.  As  he  entered  his  house  he 
looked  back  towards  the  post-office. 

"  I  see  it ! "  he  said  aloud.  "  I  see  it  now.  She's  got 
Bill  Minden's  eyes.  I've  found  the  clue." 


THE  CAMP  MEETING  205 

All  night  the  Young  Doctor  watched  at  Masterton's 
bedside,  and  by  the  middle  of  the  following  day  was  able 
to  announce  that  his  patient  was  out  of  danger ;  but  that 
he  must  take  a  long  rest  to  recover  from  the  partial 
paralysis  which  had  seized  him. 

The  religious  dovecotes  of  Askatoon  were  greatly  flut- 
tered in  consequence.  None  there  was — no  minister  or 
layman — who  could  replace  the  hypnotic  revivalist  who 
had  overcharged  his  battery.  There  was  no  minister 
within  range,  there  was  no  layman  within  knowledge, 
who,  in  the  words  of  Jonas  Billings,  could  "  at  full  steam 
ahead  and  under  high  pressure  "  transport  sinners  from 
the  anxious-seat  to  the  platform  of  the  elect. 

All  day  the  class-leaders,  figuratively  speaking,  wrung 
their  hands ;  all  day  the  idlers  idled,  and  the  sensationalists 
grumbled  in  an  atmosphere  which  climatically  was  very 
warm,  and  out  of  which  somehow  the  sting  of  adventure — 
spiritual  adventure — had  passed.  They  were  paying  for 
excitement,  and  it  had  suddenly  evaporated. 

The  class  meeting  arranged  for  the  morning  was  as 
barren  of  emotional  music  as  a  tin  pan  is  of  melody. 
Dejection,  irritation,  prevailed.  Those  who  were  respon- 
sible for  the  organization  of  the  great  gathering  talked 
mournfully  of  the  spiritual  loss. 

But  there  was  another  loss  upon  which  they  were  all 
discreetly  silent,  until  Rigby,  tfie  druggist,  who  was  an 
especially  candid  soul,  remarked  that  three  days  more  and 
they  would  have  had  enough  cash  profit  out  of  the  camp 
meeting  to  pay  the  debt  off  the  church.  There  was  the 
real  sad  and  sorrowful  part  of  the  business.  The  Lord's 
work  would  be  hindered  because  the  Lord's  people  were 
in  debt,  but  Brother  Rigby,  chemist  and  druggist,  did  not 


2O6 

put  the  matter  with  that  chastity  of  language  which  en- 
ables the  truth  to  be  told  without  indelicacy. 

"  We  expected  to  net  three  thousand  dollars,"  he  said, 
"  and  we've  got  two  thousand  five  hundred  of  it,  but  the 
chances  of  getting  the  last  five  hundred  ain't  worth  a 
pinch  of  soda." 

Here  a  voice  intervened.  "  Have  faith,  Brother  Rigby, 
have  faith ! "  it  cried.  "  Baking  soda  makes  the  dough 
rise;  from  faith  will  rise  our  deliverer.  Perhaps  even, 
while  we  are  troubled  here,  one  cometh  of  whom  it  may 
be  said, '  Who  is  this  that  cometh  with  dyed  garments  from 
Bozrah  traveling  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength '  ?  " 

Murmurs  of  approval  ran  round  the  room.  The  adroit 
local  minister  had  blanketed  the  sordidness  of  the  drug- 
gist's candor. 

Curiosity  would  bring  a  crowd  to  the  late  afternoon 
meeting,  and  interest  for  one  day  would  be  tolerably 
secure,  but  it  would  quickly  and  finally  evaporate  unless 
someone  could  be  found  who  would  raise  the  standard 
with  a  new  religious  slogan. 

The  weather  was  propitious,  the  late  afternoon  was 
very  warm,  and  the  comfort  of  physical  warmth  is  a  great 
encouragement  and  support  to  an  organized  meeting. 

One  local  minister  opened  the  proceedings  very  wisely 
with  a  hymn,  and  it  was  a  good  hymn.  It  was  the  hymn 
which  Bill  Minden  had  quoted  to  Mrs.  Finley — "  When  I 
can  Read  my  Title  Clear  to  Mansions  in  the  Skies."  It 
started  well,  but  it  finished  on  a  wave  of  feeling  with  a 
little  lower  crest  than  that  of  previous  days.  Another 
minister  from  the  mountains  was  about  to  pray,  when 
a  throbbing  voice  rang  out  from  the  crowd  singing, 
"  Hold  the  fort,  for  I  am  coming,"  and  the  congregation, 


THE  CAMP  MEETING  207 

responding  to  the  inspiration,  joined  in  with  great  fervor, 
to  the  delight  of  the  leaders. 

Prayer  by  the  mountain-preacher  followed,  but  it 
lacked  what  one  of  the  critics  at  the  back  of  the  tent  called 
"  snap " ;  and  he  further  remarked  that  it  reached  the 
audience  it  was  intended  to  reach,  but  he'd  take  a  bet  it 
didn't  reach  the  Lord. 

Another  hymn  was  started  by  the  undertaker  of  the 
town,  probably  the  ugliest,  dreariest,  and  most  unpopular 
man  in  the  place.  "  I  am  so  Glad  that  Jesus  Loves  Me," 
he  sang.  If  he  had  sung  it  alone  the  audience  would  have 
felt  that  he  ought  to  be  unutterably  grateful,  because  the 
last  thing  he  was  likely  to  inspire  on  earth  or  in  heaven  was 
love.  The  leaders,  however,  quickly  obscured  his  un- 
popularity by  an  outburst  of  ecstasy. 

It  was  apparent  that  the  soul  of  the  meeting  required 
flagellation.  The  leaders  soon  found  themselves  in  heavy 
country,  and  were  conscious  of  dying  fires.  As  soon  as 
the  hymns  had  finished  they  brought  their  biggest  gun  into 
action.  It  was  the  president  of  a  theological  college,  with 
a  clean-shaven  actor's  face  and  long  white  hair  combed 
straight  back  from  a  narrow  but  somewhat  lofty  forehead. 

There  were  times  when  his  unctuous  intonations  and 
saponaceous  appeals,  behind  which  was  a  really  godly 
nature,  had  effect;  and  now  just  at  the  start  his  oratory 
stirred  the  congregation,  but  evaporation  almost  imme- 
diately began. 

Something  with  more  grip,  something  more  rugged  and 
less  refined  and  usual  was  required.  The  Rev.  Ephraim 
Masterton  had  not  been  rugged,  his  had  not  been  the 
voice  of  the  vernacular,  but  he  had  been  young,  eloquent, 
sentimental,  vivid,  and  hypnotic,  and  having  caught  the 
women  first  by  his  sad  beauty  and  his  ecstasy,  he  had  got 


208  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

the  men  by  a  really  magnetic  force.  The  white-haired 
imitator,  with  his  stereotyped  adjurations,  without  a  note 
of  originality,  was  but  an  imitation  of  the  true  emotional 
power  which  the  stricken  revivalist  had  pushed  too  far. 

The  congregation  was  slipping  away  swiftly  out  of 
control,  in  spite  of  the  speaker's  energetic  outbursts  here 
and  there,  of  pleadings  to  sinners,  when  suddenly,  in  a 
short  pause  of  the  harangue — indeed,  in  its  most  desperate 
moment — a  beautiful,  clear,  full-throated  voice  rang  out 
above  the  subdued  clamor  of  those  who  had  found,  and 
those  who  were  finding,  peace.  It  sang : 

"  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than,  day, 

And  by  faith  we  can  see  it  afar, 
And  our  Saviour  waits  over  the  vuay 
To  prepare  us.  a  dwelling  place  there" 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  leader  of  the  choir,  Cora  Finley, 
Something  in  it  vibrated  like  the  strings  of  a  violin.  It 
had  neither;  cant,  sentimentality,  nor  whining.  It  rang 
true  metal.  It  was  the  convinced  outpouring  of  a  simple 
soul  that  knew  no  guile,  which  belonged  to  all  that  was, 
had  ever  been,  or  ever  had  been  taught  It  was  the  .first 
note  that  she  had  sung  at  this  revival  meeting;  it  was  the 
first  time  that  she  had  ever  taken  part  as  one  who  had 
joined  the  church. 

The  great  congregation  let  her  sing  the  whole  verse 
without  joining  in,  while  tears  filled  Mrs.  Finley 's  eyes  and 
trickled  down  her  cheeks,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
prayers  of  years  had  been  answered,  that  her  girl "  had  got 
religion." 

The  meeting  was  magnetized  once  again,  and  the  sec- 
ond verse  began  in  a  very  storm  of  exhortation.  The 
preachers  had  failed  and  the  previous  hymns  had  failed ; 
they  had  seemed  forced  and  unreal,  but  now  the  real 
thing  possessed  the  meeting. 


THE  CAMP  MEETING  209 

What  was  to  come  after  none  could  tell,  but  for  the 
moment  all  was  well.  To-day  was  as  yesterday,  the  dark- 
ness was  lit  up.  Veins  tingled,  hearts  swelled,  tears 
flowed,  voices  rang  out. 

In  the  middle  of  the  third  verse  there  was  a  sudden 
movement  which  attracted  attention,  and  a  man's  voice 
calling.  Then,  all  at  once,  before  the  congregation  could 
realize  what  was  happening,  there  sprang  on  to  the  plat- 
form a  man  with  a  great  touzled  head,  -bushy  beard,  and 
blazing  blue  eyes. 

"Saved!"  he  cried.  "Saved!  Glory  be  to  God! 
There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day !  I'm  going — I'm 
going — I'm  going  there !  Glory  be I" 

It  was  Bill  Minden.  The  class-leaders  on  the  platform 
movv  d  down  on  him,  embracing  him,  shrieking  in  a  frenzy 
of  joy.  The  congregation  rocked  to  and  fro.  Bill  Minden 
the  train-robber,  the  jail  bird,  the  notorious,  the  school- 
trustee,  the  philanthropist,  the  would-be  mayor,  Bill  Min- 
den was  converted.  No  longer  the  Bible  read  upon  the 
hotel  stoop,  no  longer  the  quaint  commentary  of  the  Old 
Testament  to  a  curious  crowd  on  a  Sabbath  morning, 
but  now  the  sinner  repentant,  crying :  "  I've  found  it ! 
I've  found  it !  I've  found  it !  "  while  shouting  came  from 
all  sides,  "  Bless  the  Lord !  Glory  be,  he's  saved !  " 

Two  minutes  afterwards  Minden  was  pouring  out  a 
flood  of  eloquence  which  even  drowned  the  memory  of 
Ephraim  Masterton.  Here  was  something  right  out  of  the 
core  of  nature.  Here  was  a  man  of  the  people,  in  the 
language  of  the  people,  talking  in  a  vernacular  which 
roused  them  all  to  wonder  and  to  holy  passion. 

Now  all  the  past  reading  of  Bill's  Old  Testament  sup- 
plied him  with  texts,  phrases,  illustrations  without  num- 
ber. This,  united  with  the  dialect  or  phrasing,  with  the 
14 


210  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

epithets,  the  quaint  sayings,  the  vocabulary  of  the  saloon, 
the  race  course,  the  mine,  the  railway,  the  mountain  and 
the  prairie,  made  his  exhortation  like  none  ever  heard  at 
any  revival  in  all  the  world.  He  swept  the  crowd  on  one 
great  wave  of  sensation  into  his  net. 

The  camp  meeting  was  saved  by  Bill  Minden  the  con- 
verted, and  for  three  days  the  great  "  effort "  went  on. 
At  the  end  of  it  Mr.  Rigby  the  druggist,  treasurer  of 
Grace  Church,  announced  that  the  debt  on  the  building 
was  redeemed. 


CHAPTER 


THE  newspapers  of  the  West  exclaimed  sympatheti- 
cally, and  here  and  there  cynically,  on  Bill  Minden's  "  get- 
ting grace,"  as  it  was  colloquially  called.  It  certainly 
was  a  sensation;  but  the  violence  of  the  spiritual  gym- 
nastics was  somewhat  abated  by  the  fact  that  Minden  in 
all  his  public  life,  if  it  might  be  so  called,  had  been  the 
amazing  anomaly  of  a  man  who  had  stuck  up  coaches  and 
trains,  and  had  even  killed  men,  while  carrying  a  Bible 
in  his  saddle-bag. 

Paradox  he  had  always  been,  and  now,  as  a  definite 
ientity  without  contradiction,  he  was  startling,  but  he  did 
not  defy  understanding.  It  was  as  though  a  surgical 
operation  had  produced  from  a  character  composite  of 
tx>th  crime  and  goodness  a  consistent  whole. 

The  Young  Doctor  was  profoundly  interested  in  what 
he  called  the  Case.  No  one  in  Askatoon  but  himself  had 
seen  tlie  singular  likeness  between  the  deep  blue  eyes  of 
Cora  Finley  and  those  of  the  notorious  Minden.  Once  he 
got  the  clue  he  began  to  travel  back,  with  scientific  cer- 
tainty, though  a  hundred  incidents  of  Minden's  life  at 
Askatoon,  and  through  many  events  surrounding  hisi 
transfer  from  the  highwayman's  enterprise  to  his  new 
civic  virtue.  At  the  end  of  the  journey  he  found  the 
truth  —  Minden  was  the  girl's  father.  He  could  not,  how- 
ever, guess  what  had  been  the  past  relations  between  Mrs. 
Finley  and  Minden,  and  why  it  was  that  Mrs.  Finley,  until 
Minden's  conversion,  was  his  sharpest  critic. 

It  was  a  fact,  however,  that  when  Minden  stepped 

'Vk.  211 


212  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

from  the  platform  of  the  saved  in  the  hour  of  his  con- 
version, Mrs.  Finley  had  met  him  with  outstretched  hands. 
The  Young  Doctor  himself  had  seen  the  conversion  and 
had  noted  how  it  was  linked  with  Cora's  wonderful  singing 
of  "  There's  a  Land  that  is  Fairer  than  Day." 

There,  however,  he  stopped  dead.  He  only  knew  that 
thereafter  Minden  frequented  Mrs.  Finley's  home  and 
even  attended  choir-practice  now  and  then.  It  would 
all  have  been  absurd,  had  it  not  been  that  Minden  was 
one  of  the  most  natural  men  in  speech  and  manner  that 
could  be  found  in  a  month  of  Sundays.  Even  as  success- 
ful train-robber  he  had  been  unassuming.  He  had  never 
swaggered  in  the  hey-day  of  his  triumphant  crime,  but  had 
looked  the  world  simply  and  humorously  in  the  face. 
Now,  as  the  most  spectacular  figure  of  the  West,  the 
black  sheep  of  the  flock  turned  miraculously  white,  and 
carried  on  the  hands  of  all  the  good  "  prayer  people,"  as 
he  had  called  them,  there  was  no  smack  of  vanity  or  self- 
consciousness  about  him.  As  Jonas  Billings  said: 

"  He  surely  is  a  wonder.  You'd  think  he  was  born  at 
a  love  feast  of  the  quarterly  meeting,  singing,  '  I  am  so 
glad  that  my  Saviour  loves  me/  " 

But  behind  Minden's  shrewd,  kindly  eyes,  behind  his 
loose-joined,  friendly  body,  showing  a  healthy  and  gener- 
ous existence,  a  brain  was  ceaselessly  devising  how  to  get 
that  larger  share  of  happiness  which  he  could  not  wholly 
grasp.  It  was  true  he  saw  his  daughter  almost  every  day, 
though  not  every  day  did  he  speak  with  her;  that  he 
visited  at  Mrs.  Finley's  house ;  that  he  officiously  inspected 
the  school  where  she  was ;  that  he  saw  her  at  choir-practice. 

But  that  was  not  enough.  The  great  camp  meeting 
had  keen  dissolved  into  a  shiver  of  prismatic  radiance, 
but  there  was  an  obsession  in  his  brain  and  heart  which 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        213 

controlled,  possessed  him ;  he  wanted  more.  The  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  girl  as  his  daughter  was  denied  him,  but 
he  had  a  supreme  joy  and  vanity  in  what  she  was.  Re- 
spectability such  as  hers  was  a  very  worshipful  thing  to 
him,  although  he  had  never  known  it  until  now.  He 
longed,  almost  savagely,  to  be  under  the  same  roof  with 
her,  to  feel  her  influence  moving  round  him  like  a  golden 
light  every  day. 

Morning1,  noon,  and  night  he  thought  and  thought, 
and  puzzled  and  puzzled  his  brain,  as  to  what  he  could 
do  to  get  closer  to  her  and  yet  not  risk  the  truth  becoming 
known. 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  still  stayed  at  the 
Sunbright  Hotel.  At  first  the  preachers  and  the  class- 
leaders  reasoned,  expostulated  with  him,  but  his  reply 
had  been,  "I've  lived  in  a  tavern  all  my  life,  when  I 
haven't  been  in  a  tent  or  a  shack.  I  never  had  but  for 
a  little  while  any  home  'cept  a  tavern  since  I  was  growed 
up.  I'm  a  brother  to  every  man,  an'  I'm  most  a  brother 
to  them  that's  on  the  pad,  that's  comin'  an'  goin'.  I'm 
at  home  with  the  wayfarer,  an'  he's  at  home  with  me. 
.Y've  got  to  follow  y'r  bent  in  the  state  of  life  which  the 
Lord  has  called  you  to.  I  want  to  be  just  where  I've 
always  been,  while  not  being  as  I've  always  been.  If  I'm 
goin'  to  do  any  good  with  my  religion,  which  I  got  while 
the  lowly  lamp  still  held  out  to  'luminate,  I  mustn't  shake 
my  shanks  away  from  the  passin'  show.  What's  the  good 
o'  my  living  among  believers?  What  I've  got  to  do  is 
to  live  among  the  damned.  Being  familiar  with  them,  I 
get  a  better  chance  of  gettin'  my  hand  on  to  them,  and 
coaxin'  them  out  of  the  broad  path  into  the  neat  and 
narrow  way,  where  the  light  of  love  lingers  long  as 
life  lasts." 


214  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

In  his  "  soul  to  soul "  talks,  as  he  called  them,  he  never 
could  resist  this  alliteration.  His  preachings,  his  prayers, 
and  his  exhortations  were  filled  with  masterly  phrases; 
it  was  a  unique  gift. 

"  No,  the  tavern's  the  place  for  me,  and  a  tavern  it  shall 
be,"  he  added.  "  I'm  of  the  passing  world,  prepared  to 
penetrate  the  pilgrim's  impenitent  soul.  To  the  tavern 
door  comes  the  young  yearlin'  of  the  herd  and  the  old 
buck  of  the  bad  lands.  A  word  in  season,  a  whisper  in 
the  night,  a  warning  in  the  mornin',  an'  you  never  know 
but  you've  snatched  a  soul  out  of  the  cinders.'* 

It  was  a  good  argument,  still  the  prayer  people  felt  it 
incongruous  that  their  new  leader,  their  profligate  prodi- 
gal, now  a  tower  of  strength  in  the  Lord's  house,  should 
still  remain  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,  where  scenes  of 
drunkenness  occurred ;  where  even  a  migratory  strumpet 
might  now  and  again  be  seen. 

What  discontent  might  have  developed  till  the  fresh 
convert  was  disciplined  at  quarterly  meeting  would  never 
be  known,  because  on  a  certain  inspired  day  Minden 
found  the  way  out 

One  night  he  had  not  slept  at  all  thinking  of  his  "  little 
gal,"  and  in  the  morning,  soon  after  sunrise,  sitting  on 
the  stoop  of  the  hotel,  he  saw  passing  down  the  street 
another  victim  of  insomnia — John  Warner,  the  real-estate 
agent.  Only  the  day  before  he  had  heard  of  Warner's 
impending  bankruptcy.  The  poor  man  had  built  a  hotel 
and  could  not  pay  for  it,  and  the  mortgagees  and  the 
banks  were  crowding  to  crush  him,  to  get  out  of  his 
mangled  remains  financial  profit  while  yet  it  would  not 
fail  them. 

As  Minden  watched  Warner  pass  with  haggard  face 
and  downcast  look,  there  flashed  into  his  mind  the  solu- 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        215 


tion  of  his  own  problem.  He  rose  hurriedly  from  the 
verandah  and  strode  down  the  street  after  the  broken 
man. 

"  Say,  wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Warner,"  he  said. 

Apathetically,  the  other  turned,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"Tell  me,  what  did  your  hotel  cost  you?"  Minden 
asked.  "What  did  it  cost  you,  according  to  the  bills 
and  the  auditors?" 

"  Seventeen  thousand  dollars — all  I  had,  and  six  thou- 
sand more  than  I  had,"  answered  the  other. 

"  I'll  give  eighteen  thousand  for  it,"  said  Minden,  "  if 
you  can  show  me  straight  it  cost  you  that." 

"  It's  worth  twenty-five  thousand,"  responded  Warner, 
with  a  new,  tremulous  look  of  hope  in  his  face. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  give  twenty  thousand,  if  you're  givin' 
it  to  me  straight,"  returned  Minden. 

In  vain  the  other  tried  to  conquer  himself,  but  he  ihad 
eaten  nothing  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  he  had  not  slept 
at  all  for  three  whole  nights.  He  opened  his  lips  once 
or  twice  to  speak,  then  a  great  convulsion  shook  him, 
and  he  burst  into  tears.  Sobs  shook  him  as  Minden  put 
an  arm  round  his  shoulders  and  hurried  him  across  the 
street  into  the  Sunbright  Hotel,  and  upstairs  into  his 
own  room. 

When  Warner  could  control  himself  sufficiently  he 
said :  "  My  God,  but  you're  a;  Christian,  Mr.  Minden ! " 

Why  did  Minden  buy  a  hotel  at:  a  £daf:  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars? 

At  first  glance  if  seeme'3  5ad  enough  to  live  in  5,  hotel 
when  you'  were  a  professing  Christian,  but  to  buy  a  hotel 
deliberately,  which  would  be  licensed  to  sell  "  wine,  beer, 


2i6  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

and  other  spirituous  and  fermented  liquors,"  seemed  flying 
in  the  face  of  a  newly  got  reputation  for  grace. 

Bill  saw  the  full  significance  of  the  situation  he  had 
created,  but  he  had  staked  all  on  his  inspired  hazard,  and 
he  would  see  it  through. 

The  news  of  his  purchase  travelled  swiftly  through  the 
town,  and  many  a  sour-tempered  sinner  essayed  to  run 
across  him  during  the  day  with  the  dark  purpose  of  "  show- 
ing him  up,"  as  they  put  it.  For  one  of  the  Saved  to 
buy  a  hotel  was,  as  Jonas  Billings  said,  enough  to  make 
a  cat  laugh.  The  unregenerate  laughed  consumedly,  and 
Billings  announced  that  Minden  hadn't  learned  yet  how 
to  be  a  Christian.  He  guessed  that  as  Bill  had  been  taking 
things  without  paying  for  them  all  his  life,  the  new  habit 
of  paying  for  what  he  wanted  "  sort  of  intoxicated  him ; 
an'  he'll  want  to  buy  a  race  course  next,  an'  a  brass  band 
to  go  with  it." 

Good  humor  marked  the  sardonic  criticism  of  nearly 
every  unregenerate,  but  Patsy  Kernaghan,  who  had  be- 
come Bill's  most  ferocious  critic  since  his  conversion, 
fairly  danced  in  triumph  to  the  Young  Doctor's  office, 
bursting  in  upon  his  medical  friend  as  he  was  cleaning 
instruments  after  an  operation. 

On  this  unconventional  entrance  the  Young  Doctor 
thrust  a  long  knife  out  at  Patsy  melodramatically. 

"  I'll  cut  your  face  away  from  that  ugly  nose  of  yours, 
Kernaghan,"  he  said,  "  if  you  enter  my  office  again  with- 
out knocking." 

"Aw,  Doctor  dear,"  rejoined  the  other  excitedly — 
"aw,  put  it  away.  It  doesn't  matter  cutting  away  me 
face — it's  never  been  anny  use  to  me ;  but  have  you  h'ard 
what's  happened  ?  Did  ye  get  the  news  ?  Did  ye  hear  the 
thunderbolt  drop  ?  " 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        217 

"  You  mean  about  Minden  and  Warner's  hotel  ?  " 
answered  the  other  lazily. 

"  Tare  an'  'ounds,  isn't  that  a  thunderbolt?  Isn't  that 
a  fine  scrape  ?  In  to-day  an'  out  to-morrow,  like  a  land 
leaguer  an*  Limerick  jail!  Here  to-day  and  away  to- 
morrow, like  the  clods  of  the  valley !  In  the  arms  of  the 
Methodies  last  week,  and  back  again  to  Beelzeboob  this 
week.  Shure,  I  think  he  was  mad — just  struck  down  by 
a  gurl's  voice  in  a  crowded  tint,  an*  all  the  people  shouting 
round  him,  *  Glory  be ! '  He  hadn't  been  used  to  it,  and 
him  gettin'  old — that's  what's  the  matter  with  him." 

"Ah,  you  had  hopes  he  would  join  the  Catholics, 
Patsy,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor,  with  a  careful  edge 
to  his  voice. 

"  Shure,  I  thought  there  was  that  much  sense  left  till 
him.  There  was  hopes  he'd  get  the  balance  of  ihis  mind 
in  this  good  air,  but,  annyhow,  glory  be,  he  didn't  stay 
long  among  thim  Methodies.  He  breaks  out  like  a  young 
bull,  an'  buys  a  hotel,  an'  begorra,  he's  goin'  to  run  it 
himself,  too ! " 

"  So  there's  hope  of  him  yet,  eh  ?  " 

"  There's  no  hypokrasy  in  the  Cat'lic  Church.  Shure,  a 
man  can  keep  a  hotel,  or  be  a  doctor ! — it  doesn't  matter 
how  bad  he  is.  The  Church  just  says:  Do  your  dooty 
where  y'are  placed ;  whether  it's  tradin'  with  good  whisky 
or  dosin'  with  bad  poison.  If  'tis  so,  Doctor  dear,  thin 
there  y'are.  The  Church  saves  you  in  spite  of  it.  That's 
not  the  way  with  the  Methodies.  Niver  mind  where  y'are 
placed,  come  out  of  it,  they  say.  Come  out  of  it,  an'  be  a 
baker,  or  a  tinsmith,  or  a  storekeeper,  or  an  insurance 
agent,  or  an  undertaker;  an'  there  y'are!  Thim's  the 
heavenly  trades  that's  pursooed  in  the  mansions  of  the 
skies.  Aw,  Doctor  dear,  I  was  afeard  Bill  Minden  was 


2i8  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

losin'  his  mind;  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  some  good 
angel  with  a  bottle  of  Hinnisy's  brandy  stepped  up  till  him 
last  night,  as  he  was  getting  into  bed,  an'  whispered  in. 
his  ear  what  was  good  for  him.  So  he  woke  up  in  the 
marnin'  with  an  empty  bottle  in  his  hand  an*  a  new  mind ; 
an*  seeing  Warner's  hotel  yander,  he  observed  his  duty  an* 
done  it,  an'  was  saved  from  the  grave  of  the  hypocrik 
an*  the  hell  of  the  lunatic." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  answered  the  Young 
Doctor.  "  I'd  like  to  hear  what  Minden  says  to  the  class- 
leaders  to-night.  They're  getting  thumb-screws  ready  for 
him  I  hear.  There  were  never  any  inquisitors  in  Spain 
like  these,  Patsy.  The  Spanish  crowd  said,  '  Be  of  good 
cheer,  for  (by  this  you  shall  be  saved ' ;  while  the  Askatoon 
inquisitors  say, '  Put  out  his  eyes,  cut  off  his  tongue,  and 
let  him  be  damned/  Kernaghan,  my  lad,  I'm  not  at  all 
sure  there  isn't  a  nigger  in  William  Minden's  fence.  He'll 
roast  them,  I'm  thinking." 

The  Young  Doctor  was  quite  right.  There  was  to  be 
a  class-meeting  in  the  evening,  and  at  it  the  prayer  people 
would  sit  in  judgment  on  Minden,  the  converted  one. 

It  was  a  difficult  position.  Minden  had  greatly  in- 
•  creased  the  church  membership ;  he  had  been  an1  "  instru- 
ment of  grace,"  the  rescuer  of  the  lost.  Also,  he  had  been 
a  rich  source  of  financial  profit,  and  their  hearts  were 
sick  that  this  hotel  business  might  force  them  to  expel 
him  from  their  communion. 

In  anyone  else  the  matter  would  have  called  for  re- 
proach and  discipline  only,  but  in  Minden's  case  it  was  a 
degrading  return  to  the  husks  the  swine  did  eat,  and  it  was 
too  notorious  not  to  be  taken  notice  of  in  a  large  way. 

Minden  knew  it  all.  He  depended  on  one  thing,  and 
he  went  to  find  it  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Finley.  It  was  five 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        219 

o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and,  to  his  joy,  Mrs.  Finley  was 
absent  and  Cora  was  at  home.  He  entered  on  her  at  a 
moment  when  she  was  making  for  supper  what  are  called 
"  biscuits  "  in  the  West.  In  her  white  apron  and  flour- 
covered  hands,  with  eyes  alight  and  cheeks  abloom,  with 
an  air  of  genteel  business  about  her,  she  was  a  very  picture 
of  domesticity.  Minden's  heart  grew  big  with  pride. 

"  Peace  be  to  this  house,"  he  said  with  Oriental  quaint- 
ness  and  an  Occidental  smile. 

"  And  unto  you,  friend,  also,"  she  replied,  with  joyous 
naturalness. 

Presently  she  added,  "  I  can't  quite  make  out  why  it  is, 
Mr.  Minden,  that  the  first  time  we  met,  your  eyes  seemed 
familiar  to  me,  and  just  now  when  you  came  in  it  seemed 
as  if  I  knew  you  ages  ago  somewhere." 

A  flush  stole  slowly  over  Minden's  face.  She  had 
startled  him.  It  was  almost  as  though  she  had  called 
him  father. 

"Well,  it  must  ha'  been  all  right  between  us  ages 
ago,"  he  answered,  "  for  you  surely  are  kind  to  me  now. 
You  don't  stand  me  off  as  though  I  ought  to  be  breakin' 
stones." 

"You  have  been  breaking  stones,"  she  answered. 
"You  have  broken  the  stone  of  many  a  hard  heart; 
you've  made  people  happy  that  were  unhappy  before. 
That's  the  thing  about  religion  which  I  understand,"  she 
added.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  had  any  grace,  as  mother 
understands  it ;  but  helping  someone  that  needs  help  is  my 
religion." 

"  You  don't  just  think  all  the  time  about  saving  your 
own  soul,  then?  "  asked  the  visitor. 

"  I  think  that's  selfish,"  she  answered.  "  You've  got 
to  be  thinking  of  others  or  you  don't  have  happiness." 


220  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

Then,  while  wiping  the  flour  from  her  fingers,  she 
continued : 

"  That's  why  you  bought  John  Warner's  hotel,  isn't 
it?  You  weren't  thinking  of  yourself,  but  of  him.  Some 
of  the  class-leaders  are  mad  at  you,  but  you  know  why 
you  did  it,  and  you're  going  to  explain  to  the  meeting 
to-night,  aren't  you  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Minden  was  silent,  then,  as  though  with 
an  effort,  he  replied :  "  No,  I  guess  I  was  selfish  after  all." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  replied  stoutly. 

He  shook  his  head  perplexedly.  "  I'll  tell  you  why  I 
bought  that  hotel,  an'  I'm  tellin'  you  first  of  all.  I'm 
hopin',  too,  you're  not  goin'  to  fly  out  an'  say  shame  on 
me  when  I've  told  you.  I  bought  that  tavern,  not  to  run 
it  as  a  place  where  anybody  can  get  drunk  if  he  likes,  or 
play  cards,  and  shoot  off  his  mouth.  I  bought  it  for  the 
town's  good.  I'm  goin'  to  run  it  as  a  temperance  -hotel. 
Lots  of  people  know  me  in  the  West,  an'  lots  who  don't 
know  me  want  to  see  me,  as  if  I  was  a  hyena  in  a  circus ; 
an*  I'll  draw.  That  tavern'll  be  a  home  for  the  weary, 
for  the  traveller  comin'  or  goin'.  I  can  do  more  good  in  a 
temperance  hotel  like  that  than  ten  churches  can,  for 
there'll  be  a  word  in  season  for  them  that  never  enter  a 
church — not  a  word  of  religion,  but  just  good  tidin's,  just 
a  sort  of  sense  of  bein'  all  right." 

She  clapped  her  hands.  "  There,  I  was  sure  you  meant 
something  good  by  it,  but  I  see  now  how  a  big  mind 
thinks." 

"  Say,  don't  talk  like  that,"  Minden  answered,  with 
blinking  eyes,  while  longing  to  kiss  the  spot  on  the  top  of 
her  head  where  the  light  burnished  her  hair.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  my  plans  are,  because  you're  the  only  person 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        221 

can  help  me  carry  'em  out.  If  you  say  yes,  then  both  of 
us  together  can  make  your  mother  say  yes.  .  .  . 

"  She  can  be  made  to  say  it,"  he  continued,  almost  in- 
trospectively.  "  You  don't  know  what  I  want  ?  Well, 
listen.  Your  mother  told  me  a  week  ago  that  this  house 
has  been  sold  by  her  landlord,  an'  she  has  to  give  up  and 
get  out.  Well,  I  want  her  to  come  and  help  me  make  that 
temperance  hotel  go — the  first  ever  started  out  here  in  a 
big  way,  an'  I  want  you  and  her  to  come  and  live  there. 
We  can  prove  a  hotel  can  be  like  a  home ;  we  can  make 
it  a  real  reef-me-in  rest-house.  Not  a  drop  of  liquor'll 
ever  enter  it,  if  I  can  help  it;  but  I  can't  do  it  alone. 
There's  not  one  in  a  million  has  got  the  sense  of  home  your 
mother  has.  She  can  make  that  place  seem  a  home. 
We  can  kill  two  or  three  of  the  small  taverns,  an'  give  the 
men  that's  running  them  work  in  our  place;  for  half 
the  men  that  run  taverns  are  sober  and  hate  drink ;  they 
see  too  much  of  it.  Don't  you  take  what  I'm  drivin'  at? 
Will  you  do  it?" 

She  certainly  did  not  see  all  that  he  was  driving  at. 
What  he  wanted  was  this  daughter  of  his  and  her  reputed 
mother  under  his  own  roof,  where  he  could  see  them  every 
day,  in  the  many  hours  of  every  day,  and  share  with  this 
wonderful  girl  the  life  of  home.  As  he  awaited  her  reply 
his  eyes  grew  bigger  with  intense  scrutiny  and  suspense. 

Her  eyes,  like  'his,  were  expanding;  she,  too,  saw  a 
vision ;  it  was  the  vision  of  a  man's  work  and  constructive 
power,  brought  within  the  range  of  her  own  co-operation. 

"  Splendid — it's  splendid ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Of 
course  I'll  do  it,  if  mother  will ;  and  she  must.  She  cer- 
tainly must  do  it.  Isn't  it  a  great,  big,  magnificent  plan ! 
That's  religion,"  she  continued.  "  It  isn't  getting  at  a  lot 
of  people  at  church  on  Sunday,  and  a  few  at  class-meet- 


222  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

ings  in  the  week;  but  it's  getting  at  people  coming  and 
going,  and  going  and  coming,  and  sitting  and  resting  in  a 
place  where  things  are  taught  without  words.  Oh  dear,  I 
wish  mother  would  come — but  here  she  is !  "  she  added, 
as  the  gate  clicked. 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Finley  was  inside  the  room, 
quickly  perceiving  an  air  of  excitement. 

"  .What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  with  a  look  of  suspicion  and 
reproof  in  her  face,  for  she  had  heard  of  Minden's  new 
adventure  with  alarm  and  pain. 

"  Now  don't  you  offer  to  shake  hands  till  I've  told  you 
everything,"  Minden  said.  "  I've  been  tellin'  her  because 
instinct  would  tell  her.  what  to  do,  but  it  would  be  good, 
full-grown  common  sense  with  you.  I  was  more  afraid 
of  her  than  you,  because  you'd  make  up  your  mind  on  the 
merits,  and  she'd  make  up  hers  on  her  feelin's." 

Though  Mrs.  Finley  was  distressed  and  provoked  at 
what  she  had  heard  about  the  tavern,  there  was  a  feeling 
for  this  man  she  could  not  conquer.  He  was  a  link  with 
her  old  happy  past.  He  had  given  her  joy  through  this 
child  of  his.  In  spite  of  everything  she  believed  in  him. 

"Well,  I'd  like  a  cup  of  tea  first,"  she  answered. 
"  Maybe  you'll  get  it,  Cora,  whilst  we  talk,"  she  added  to 
the  girl. 

Cora  nodded,  but  before  she  left  the  room  she  said : 
"  Please  remember  I  beg  you  to  do  what  he  wants  you 
to  do." 

When  she  returned  ten  minutes  later,  she  saw  what 
she  had  seen  but  few  times  in  her  life — tears  in  Mrs. 
Finley's  eyes. 

"  We've  got  to  do  it,  Cora ;  it's  a  clear  message  from 
on  high,"  Mrs.  Finley  said. 

Almost  with  an  air  of  benevolence  Cora  watched  the 


MINDEN  FORMS  A  PARTNERSHIP        223 

two  drink  their  tea.  It  seemed  to  herself  that  she  was 
removed  to  a  height  above  them  both.  In  'the  man  there 
was  a  great  human  passion  working ;  in  the  woman's  mind 
there  was  a  conviction  of  a  message  from  on  high ;  in  the 
girl's  there  was  a  romance  of  doing  good,  of  helping  her 
fellow-creatures,  a  view  of  something  splendid,  a  sweet, 
indefinite  promise  of  the  future.  It  was  something  bigger 
'  than  herself,  and  there  was  in  it  neither  spiritual  fanati- 
cism nor  human  vanity — only  the  jealous  wisdom  and 
aspiration  of  youth. 


CHAPTER  V 
SANCTUARY 

So  far  Mmden  had  had  his  way  in  everything  in  Aska- 
toon.  He  had  gone  from  sensation  to  sensation  like  the 
great  adventurer  he  had  always  been.  First  the  bogey 
man  with  a  bad  reputation,  moving  like  a  threatening 
cloud  among  them  all ;  then  the  open-handed  philanthrop- 
ist, who  never  turned  a  marble  heart  to  anyone  in  misery 
or  any  good  cause;  then  school-trustee;  later,  the  re- 
pentant sinner  for  whom  there  had  been  more  joy  than 
over  the  ninety-and-nine  who  needed  no  repentance ;  then 
•at  last,  after  his  visit  to  Cora  and  Mrs.  Finley,  he  was 
unanimously  elected  mayor;  and  after  that  came  the 
greatest  sensation  of  all :  the  transportation  of  Mrs.  Finley 
and  her  daughter  to  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel. 

There  the  capable,  pious  widow-woman  with  the  cameo 
brooch  and  the  medieval  head  became  the  organizer  of  a 
larger  domestic  scheme  than  she  had  ever  known.  Fifty- 
five  years  old  as  she  was,  the  housekeeping  of  this  large  and 
various  business  did  not  prove  too  great  for  her  capacity. 

It  had  been  a  moment  of  great  heart-searching  on  the 
part  of  the  Methodist  community  when,  in  the  sacred 
enclosure  of  the  class-meeting,  Minden  unfolded  his  plan, 
and  Mrs.  Finley  made  a  decisive  little  speech,  in  which  she 
declared  that  she  was  called  to  do  this  thing;  that  the 
Spirit  had  spoken  to  her ;  and  that  as  the  work  had  to  be 
done  she  was  calmly  sure  that  she  could  do  it  as  well  as, 
even  a  little  better  than,  anybody  else. 

Two  or  three  women  present  sniffed  at  this  self-confi- 
dence, but  on  the  whole  she  was  taken  at  her  own  valua- 
224 


SANCTUARY  225 

tion.  That  she,  however,  who  had  been  the  converted 
ex-criminal's  most  austere  critic,  should  leave  her  little 
home  and  become  the  housekeeper  of  his  big  tavern  was  a 
large  mouthful  for  these  finicking  folk  to  swallow.  There 
were  two  or  three  women  present  who,  if  they  had  dared, 
would  have  said,  "  Why  don't  you  marry  him  at  once  and 
•have  done  with  it !  " 

Good  people  as  they  were,  it  was  natural  they  should 
be  anxious  that  Mrs.  Finley  should  not  be  a  hypocrite,  that 
the  situation  should  be  outwardly  what  it  really  was 
inwardly;  for  Mrs.  Finley  had  no  more  idea  of  a  closer 
association  with  Minden  than  he  had,  and  it  was  as  distant 
from  his  mind  as  Gehenna  from  Guadalupe.  Minden  was 
obsessed  by  one  idea  only — the  home  where  his  "  little  gal " 
would  be. 

It  was  not  a  home  such  as  he  would  have  liked ;  that  is, 
a  kind  of  stockade  which  should  shut  out  the  whole  savage 
world.  With  the  constant  coming  and  going  through  its 
doorways  of  hundreds  of  travelers,  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel 
was  only  a  home  like  the  Arab's  tent  or  the  gipsy's  van ; 
though  there  were  two  secluded  sets  of  rooms  at  either  end 
of  the  capacious  hostel,  where  the  peace  of  home  had  its 
habitat.  Also  there  was  a  little  dining  room  common  to 
the  three,  where  they  met  at  least  three  times  a  day; 
and  by  Minden's  careful  ingenuity,  there  were  many 
incidental  meetings  with  the  girl  who  was  the  apple  of  his 
eye. 

Askatoon  and  the  West  watched  the  career  of  the  Rest 
Awhile  Hotel  with  abnormal  scrutiny.  Scores  of  way- 
farers, attracted  by  the  unique  character  of  the  place, 
hoped  to  find  a  bottle  behind  a  door  somewhere,  or  a 
secret  panel  which  shielded  some  stimulant;  but  it  was 
not  long  before  the  public  became  aware  that  the  Rest 


226  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

Awhile  Hotel  was  in  fact,  as  in  name,  a  temperance  hotel, 
where  sarsaparilla,  lemonade,  ginger-beer,  ginger-ale,  and 
''Adam's  ale"  (pure  cold  water)  were  the  only  drinks 
to  be  had  besides  tea,  coffee  and  cocoa, 

No  drunken  man  ever  kept  a  foot  within  the  "  Rest 
Awhile,"  and  at  last  it  came  to  be  understood  that 
Minden's  scheme  was  working  well.  Then  the  religious 
community  began  to  imagine  it  was  they  who  had  devised 
this  wonderful  social  reform,  wherein  the  comforts  of 
home  were  joined  to  the  excitement  of  a  pious  summer 
picnic. 

As  mayor,  Minden  did  his  work  well  and  wisely,  and 
the  business  of  the  town  was  run  economically.  Only 
in  the  stationery  department  was  there  extravagance. 
His  large  way  of  doing  things,  his  open-handedness  were 
expressed  in  the.  handwriting  which  enabled  him,  by 
crowding,  to  put  as  many  as  fifty  words  on  a  sheet  of 
foolscap,  and  if  his  fluency  in  writing  had  been  like  his 
spasmodic  fluency  in  speech,  the  mayor's  archives  would 
have  cost  the  town  much  money.  As  Patsy  Kernaghan 
said  to  the  Young  Doctor : 

"If  he's  goin'  on  being  mayor  we'll  have  to  build  a 
paper-mill,  or  he'll  have  to  get  a  sicretairy." 

"Well,  there's  Miss  Finley,"  remarked  the  Young 
Doctor,  with  a  queer  look. 

Kernaghan  nodded  and  jerked  an  approving  hand. 
"Aw,  yis,  longhand  an*  shorthand  an'  anny  hand,  she 
knows,  that  gurl.  She  just  winds  Bill  Minden  round  her 
little  finger.  Shure,  she's  always  bin  the  same  since  the 
furst  day  he  come  an'  she  smiled  a  soft  word  till  him, 
walking  out  of  the  gate  of  the  Central  School.  Don't  you 
remember  that,  Doctor  dear?  Didn't  I  tell  it  till  ye ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Young  Doctor,  "  I  remember 


SANCTUARY  227 

it  well  enough.    He's  that  fond  of  her  she  might  be  his 
own  daughter." 

"  His  own  daughter !  Do  you  mean  that  peach  blossom 
from  the  wild  tree  in  the  garden  of  Eden — that  peach 
blossom  belong  to  the  wicked  old  lupus  tree  with  the 
Dead  Sea  fruit  on  it?  Aw,  Doctor  dear,  is  there  anny 
lunacy  in  y'r  family  ?  " 

The  Young  Doctor  had  never  whispered  his  suspicion 
to  a  human  being.  As  the  West  says,  he  never  butted  in. 
It  was  the  soul  of  his  business,  the  etiquette  of  his  life, 
that  he  should  be  called  in.  So,  until  the  time  came,  until 
he  should  be  called  in,  if  that  ever  was  to  be,  no  one  should 
guess  what  he  thought  Minden's  story  was,  or  what  was 
the  secret  of  the  firm  of  Minden,  Finley  and  Finley. 

He  was  quite  right.  There  was  approaching  the  Rest 
Awhile  Hotel  an  event,  the  one  hand  of  which  held  happi- 
ness, while  from  the  other  streamed  the  black  end  of  the 
midnight  road. 

Minden  had  treasured  up  all  the  late  newspaper  reports 
which  told  of  his  conversion,  vividly  set  forth  against  his 
past  umbrageous  career.  Some  sneered  at  his  getting 
religion :  some  hinted  at  the  habit  of  the  pig  returning  to 
its  wallow,  calling  him  a  natural-born  criminal.  They 
said  that  he  would  yet  return  to  the  enticing  dangers  of 
crime,  as  a  red  man  educated  at  Harvard  or  Oxford  re- 
turned, at  last  to  the  Sun  Dance  and  the  greasy-haired 
women  of  his  tribe.  But  others  again  pointed  to  the  fact 
that  in  his  most  criminal  days  he  always  carried  and  read 
his  Bible,  while  never  pretending  to  be  anything  but  what 
he  really  was. 

"  There  is  no  reason,"  said  one  of  the  articles, "  why  the 
scandalous  sinner,  damned  a  hundred  times  over,  should 


228  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

not  admire  and  long  for  the  quiet  courts  of  the  Lord,  the 
happiness  to  which  he  had  no  claim." 

It  was  further  said  that  Minden  had  the  characteristics 
of  a  dual  personality,  loving  the  good  things  humanly  and 
truly,  but  doing  the  bad  things  wilfully  and  voluntarily. 
Minden  read  this  particular  article  many  times,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  to  be  true.  Ever  since  a  child  he  had  been 
susceptible  to  all  these  things  which  were  the  possession 
of  the  prayer  people,  whilst  something  drove  him  into  acts 
which,  never  cruel  nor  malignant,  were  still  criminal. 
iWhile  he  had  risked  his  life  in  breaking  the  law  many 
times,  he  had  also  risked  it  in  support  of  the  law. 

One  day,  as  he  sat  reading  this  article,  which  greatly 
fascinated  him,  he  said  to  himself  at  last : 

"  It's  funny,  but  the  one  thing  seemed  just  as  natural 
to  me  as  the  other.  It  was  always  like  that.  I  liked  good 
company  better  than  bad,  but  I  couldn't  keep  from  doing 
the  bad  things,  an'  I  didn't  want  to  keep  from  doing  them 
— not  till  now;  not  till  I  got  my  eyes  on  my  little  gal. 
By  gracious,  when  I  saw  her  the  first  time  after  all  them 
years,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  say  to  my  right  foot, '  You  walked 
me  into  the  broad  path,  and  off  you've  got  to  come  with  a 
knife  an'  a  saw ' ;  an'  to  my  left  hand, '  You  held  my  gun, 
while  the  other  took  the  oof,  an'  off  you've  got  to  come 
with  a  knife  an'  a  saw.'  That's  your  dooal  personality,  I 
s'pose.  I  ain't  never  been  one  personality  till  now.  Since 
I  come  to  Askatoon  I  feel,  I  truly  feel,  grace  in  me.  When 
my  little  gal  looks  at  me  I  sense  as  if  I'd  like  to  be  burnt 
at  the  stake,  jest  to  show  her  what  I'd  do  to  be  the  same 
to  her.  I  wonder  how  long  it'll  last !  " 

Trouble  came  into  his  eyes  suddenly.  "  I  wonder  how 
long  it'll  last,"  he  repeated.  "  I  wonder  how  long  it'll 
go  on  like  this — just  us  three  in  the  only  home  I've  ever 


SANCTUARY  229 

had  since  I  was  a  little  boy?  If  it  does  go  on,  my,  won't 
it  be  too  good  for  tastin' !  It  can't  though,  I  feel  it ;  an' 
I've  got  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Cora's  got  to  get  married, 
an'  she's  got  to  marry  an  all-righter,  a  one-in-a-million, 
twenty-two  carat  fella,  so  as  when  I  go,  I'll  know  she's  all 
right.  She  ain't  goin'  to  marry  a  man  like  me.  I  looked 
all  right,  an'  I  spoke  all  right  to  her  mother — the  angel 
that  she  was,  an'  I  deceived  her  as  to  what  I  reely  was. 
Cora's  got  Amandy's  beauty — an'  mind — an'  she'll  break 
'her  heart  if  she  don't  marry  the  right  kind  o'  man.  She 
ought  to  marry  a  President  or  a  young  Cecil  Rhodes — 
that's  the  kind  of  man  she  oughter  marry,  high  bred  and 
highsteppin'." 

He  laughed  a  little  to  himself.  "  I  wonder  what  they'd 
think  of  that  at  prayer-meetin' !  Their  idea'd  foe  she  oughter 
marry  in  her  own  station,  down  among  the  druggists  an* 
the  undertakers ;  but  I've  traveled  a  lot,  an'  I've  seen  the 
pearl-necklace  ladies,  the  finger-bowl  ladies,  an*  rigged 
out  like  them  she'd  look  fifty  times  as  good." 

Suddenly  a  cloud  passed  over  his  face.  "  There's  the 
dooal  personality  again.  Here  am  I  converted  and  saved, 
an'  belongin'  to  the  Methodists,  bein'  the  revivalist  that 
held  the  fort  when  the  garrison  fell  sick  of  a  fever — 'here 
am  I  talkin'  as  if  I  was  a  slave  to  the  high-muggery  of  this 
here  world.  But  wait;  ain't  there  as  good  men  among 
the  blue-veined  high-muggers  as  down  here  'mongst  the 
narrow-minded  children  of  the  Lord  ?  I  ain't  as  humble  as 
I  ought  to  be,  for  I  feel  as  good  as  any  of  'em,  an'  I  don't 
like  their  tastes.  They  want  hell-fire  preaching',  an'  praise 
God  for  the  elect;  they  want  to  live  humble  before  the 
Lord,  yet  they're  graspin'  after  riches  all  the  time.  But 
I  want  to  be  like  Solomon — sit  on  a  throne,  with  a  cornu- 
copeey  in  each  hand,  pourin'  out  beautiful  gold  five-dollar 


230  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

pieces  for  humanity.  I  want  to  be  good  like  him,  an'  write 
the  Song  o'  Solomon,  an'  the  Book  o'  Ruth,  an'  the  Pro- 
verbs; but  I  want  to  do  it  from  the  steps  of  a  palace. 
That's  Bill  Minden,  an'  I  guess  I  ain't  a  Christian  in  the 
sense  it's  understood.  I  guess  I  belong  to  the  old  order 
— them  that  lived  a  thousand  years  before  Matthew  begun 
to  write.  .  .  .  But  she's  got  to  marry,  an'  I  don't  like  the 
lot  that  surrounds  her  now,  my  little  gal." 

He  was  still  brooding  and  talking  to  himself,  with  the 
newspaper  in  his  hand,  when  Cora  entered  upon  him,  her 
eyes  sparkling,  her  cheeks  showing  nothing  of  the  fatigue 
of  the  six  hours  in  the  school-room.  She  had  had  a  long 
walk  on  the  prairie  since  school  time,  and  her  good  health 
surrounded  her  like  a  cloak  of  gold.  Minden  stood  up 
when  she  entered. 

"  Now,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  that,  Mr.  Mayor,"  she 
said.  "  You're  always  so  polite,  though  you're  old  enough 
to  be  my  father." 

A  flush  stole  slowly  over  his  face.  "  I  shouldn't  mind 
being  your  father ;  I'd  be  good  to  you,"  he  answered. 

She  nodded.  "  I  know  that,  but  my  own  father  was 
kind  to  me — yes,  beautifully  kind.  He  always  seemed 
sorry  when  I  went  out  and  always  glad  when  I  came  in. 
Tell  me,"  she  added,  "were  you  ever  married?  " 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes  as  he  answered, 
"  Yes,  I  was  married,  but  my  wife  died  a  year  after." 

"  And  you  had  no  children  ?  "  she  asked,  but  as  though 
it  were  a  fact. 

"Yes,  I  had  a  child." 

"Oh!    She  isn't  living?" 

"  I  lost  her,"  he  answered.  "  I  lost  her  soon  after  her 
mother  died." 


SANCTUARY  231 

"How  long-  ago  was  that?"  she  asked,  with  a  deep 
curiosity  in  her  face. 

"  Why,  years  and  years  ago — more'n  twenty  years  ago, 
I  guess." 

"  And  you  never  have  had  any  real  home  since  ?  "  she 
inquired  softly. 

"  Not  till  I  come  here  to  Askatoon,  an'  you  and  your 
mother  come  and  made  a  home  for  me  here.  Now  I  feel 
like  a  family  man — as  if  I  had  my  own  family  under  my 
own  roof." 

"  And  y#u  still  remember  your  little  girl  that  died?'* 
she  asked,  with  sympathetic  eyes. 

"Whenever  I  look  at  you  I  remember  her,"  he  an- 
swered slowly. 

"  So  I'm  a  kind  of  adopted  daughter  to  you,  ain't  I  ?  " 
•she  returned.  * 

"  Well,  it's  almost  like  the  real  thing,"  'he  said,  his  face 
aflush,  but  holding  himself  sternly  quiet. 

She  laughed  very  prettily,  and  yet  there  was  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  her  eyes,  a  lurking  something  which  was  always 
behind  the  mirth  of  her  face ;  and  it  was  in  his  eyes  also. 

"  Shut  your  eyes,"  she  said,  softly. 

He  did  so.  She  went  up  to  him  and  touched  his  cheek 
with  her  lips.  "I'm  your  lost  girl,"  she  said,  sweetly, 
little  knowing  of  the  truth. 

It  required  all  his  will  to  prevent  his  pouring  out  a 
father's  accumulated  love  of  twenty-two  years  upon  her; 
but  lie  mastered  himself  in  time. 

"  Lord  love  us,  but  that  was  good !  "  he  said,  without 
any  excess  of  emotion,  and  they  both  smiled  as  though  it 
was  but  a  trifling  matter  between  them. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  it  again,"  she  said,  however. 
"  I  know  you're  fond  of  me,  but  the  world  wouldn't  under- 


232  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

stand.     I  don't  believe  mother  would  understand,  though 
kissing  you  is  different  from  kissing  any  other  man." 

"  Do  men  kiss  you  ? "  he  asked,  frowning  slightly  in 
anxiety. 

"  Men  don't  kiss  me,  but  a  man  did  kiss  me,  and  I  hated 
it,"  she  answered.  A  shadow  crossed  her  face.  "  I  don't 
like  to  remember  it,"  she  continued.  "  I  liked  him  in  a 
way,  and  then  all  at  once  I  didn't  like  him,  because  he  took 
hold  of  me  and  kissed  me.  I  wanted  to  strike  him  in  the 
face,  I  hated  him  so.  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  first 
he  seemed  respectful  to  me,  the  same  as  most  other  men, 
and  then  he  acted  like  some  wild  animal,  and  it  made  me 
sick." 

"  Was  it  here  in  this  house?  "  he  asked,  almost  trem- 
bling with  anger,  yet  hiding  it  from  her. 

"  No,  not  here,"  she  replied. 

"  I'm  glad  it  didn't  happen  here,"  he  declared.  "  I'm 
glad  it  didn't  happen  while  you  was  here  with  me." 

"  Men  don't  bother  me  since  I  came  to  live  here, 
Mayor,"  she  remarked.  "  It  was  when  I  was  alone  with 
mother  they  did  it.  Oh,  there  are  men — but  no,  I  won't  tell 
you.  Bygones  are  bygones." 

"  Did  you  never  care  for  any  man  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Did 
you  never  love  any  man  at  all  ?  " 

"  No,  never,"  she  answered.  "  I  never  loved  anyone 
except  my  own  father,  and  then  I  am  very  fond  of  you." 

A  great  light  shone  in  his  eyes.  "  Happen  a  man'll 
come  some  day.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  love  a  man  and  get 
married  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face,  and  her  eyes 
softened.  "  When  the  right  man  comes  along  I'll  marry 
him  just  as  quick  as  he  wants  me  to — or  almost,"  she 
answered. 


SANCTUARY  233 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night,  after  Karcl  work  as 
tnayor  and  in  his  hotel,  Minden  was  sitting  in  his  office, 
which  had  a  door  opening  on  the  garden  behind  the  hotel. 
From  it  a  few  steps  led  down  to  the  grassy  level. 

With  foresight,  not  to  say  cunning,  he  had  placed  his 
office  where  he  could  not  be  reached  by  the  casual  passerby 
— by  the  loafer,  the  book-agent,  or  the  bore.  It  was  some 
distance  from  the  rooms  occupied  by  Mrs.  Finley  and 
Cora,  and  it  was  also  some  yards  away  from  the  central 
hall  where  visitors  were  received  and  names  registered. 

He  had  greatly  enjoyed  the  seclusion,  and  there  were 
times  when  he  worked  for  hours  with  his  accounts  and  at 
the  detailed  business  of  the  mayoralty  and  the  hotel. 
These  details  and  calculations  gave  him  much  trouble  at 
first,  because  he  had  always  been  indifferent  to  money  in 
the  small  pieces  and  hated  detail — the  tiny  items  of  life, 
as  it  were. 

His  whole  scheme  of  existence  had  been  too  large,  too 
episodical,  to  admit  of  precision  and  finesse ;  but  now  when 
he  felt  he  could  tear  accounts,  books,  and  letters  to  pieces, 
and  scatter  them  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  one  thought 
held  him  steady,  kept  him  smiling  at  his  'task.  It  was 
Cora.  It  was  worth  any  amount  of  drudgery  to  be  near 
her,  and  something  of  a  conventional  sense  of  duty  be- 
longing to  the  Christian  life  worked  through  all  he  did. 
Perhaps  it  was  as  much  habit  as  anything  else,  but  there  it 
was :  the  pious  system  with  its  etiquette,  rules,  and  disci- 
pline worked  upon  him. 

He  had  sat  in  his  office  till  nearly  an  hour  past  closing- 
time,  absorbed,  puzzled,  stubbornly  determined  to  work 
out  his  business  problems  without  calling  in  an  account- 
ant's assistance.  A  pipe  rested  by  his  hand  untouched, 
the  clock  ticked  on  unnoticed.  Presently  he  was  dis- 


234  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

turbed  by  a  noise  in  the  garden.    Then  he  heard  his  own 
name  called,  and  someone  stumbled  on  the  steps. 

He  went  to  the  door  quickly,  opened  it,  and  looked  out 
into  the  night  It  was  very  dark.  He  stepped  back 
quickly  and  turned  the  gas  low,  then  he  went  to  the  open 
door  again.  Now  he  could  make  out  a  stooping  figure  at 
the  bottom  of  the  steps. 

" Help,  Mr.  Minden,  help!  I'm  hurt!  "  a  voice  whis- 
pered to  him. 

An  instant  later  Minden  had  the  stranger  in  his  office 
lying  on  a  sofa.  A  little  trickle  of  blood  showed  on  the 
floor,  and  there  was  another  spot  on  the  lower  step  of  the 
stair  at  the  doorway.  Minden  asked  no  questions  at  once, 
but  with  the  instinct  of  one  who  had  used  firearms  much, 
he  found  a  wound  in  the  man's  arm  and  the  flesh  of  the 
side.  Stripping  the  victim  of  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and 
tearing  open  ihis  shirt,  he  proceeded  with  a  frontiersman's 
skill  to  dress  the  wounds,  cutting  up  with  a  pair  of  scissors 
a  towel  which  hung  by  the  little  washstand,  and  using  his 
big  red  handkerchief  to  bind  the  bandages. 

Instinct  told  him  that  here  was  a  mystery,  a  story  not 
for  the  open  day. 

"  What  did  you  come  to  my  back-door  for  ? "  he  asked 
of  the  haggard-looking  young  man  with  the  handsome  face 
and  the  round  soldier-like  head. 

The  iblue  eyes,  troubled  by  physical  pain,  looked 
straight  into  his  own.  "I  might  have  been  seen — the 
police !  "  the  wounded  man  said. 

"What  you  been  doing?"  Miniden  asked,  still  at 
work  with  the  bandages. 

"  I  knew  I'd  be  safe  with  you,  Mr.  Mayor,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You've  been  in  trouble  yourself  for  what  you  did 


SANCTUARY  235 

and  meant  to  do.    I'm  in  trouble  now  for  what  I  did  and 
didn't  mean  to  do." 

"  That's  a  fool's  game,"  remarked  Minden.  "  It's 
bad  enough  to  get  into  trouble  with  the  law  for  what  you 
mean  to  do,  but  the  other  makes  me  sick.  You  must 
have  been  an  idjit." 

"  Perhaps  not  so  much  as  you  think,"  was  the  weary 
reply. 

"  Well,  anyway,  what  did  you  come  to  me  for  ? " 
Minden  asked  authoritatively. 

"  I  know  you  belong  to  the  Methodists  now,  Mr. 
Minden,"  was  the  quick  answer ; "  but  you've  been  through 
such  a  lot  yourself,  if  the  papers  say  what's  right,  and 
I  was  sure  you'd  help  a  fellow  who  only  made  one  mistake. 
I  didn't  know  what  the  McMahons  were  when  I  joined 
up  with  them  a  few  weeks  ago,  dead  broke,  with  a  mine 
worth  millions  behind  me !  " 

Minden  stopped  his  first-aid  surgical  work  suddenly, 
put  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  looked  down  at  the  young 
face  made  so  old  with  suffering. 

"You — you  joined  up  with  the  McMahons?  That 
gang's  the  worst  lot  of  horse-thieves  above  the  forty- 
ninth  parallel.  You  got  into  traces  with  them — that  lot !  " 

The  young  man  made  a  protesting  gesture.  "  I  didn't 
know  this  part  of  the  country.  I've  been  mining  for  the 
last  two  years.  I'm  an  Englishman.  I  come  from  Nor- 
folk—my family's  all  right.  They  belong "  but  as 

though  to  stop  himself  from  bragging  he  paused. 

Minden  went  on  with  the  bandaging  again.  "Of  course 
you  were  English,  or  you  couldn't  ha'  been  such  a  fool. 
You  belong  to  the  way-up  people,  eh  ?  To  the  ten  thou- 
sand-acre lot,  eh?  Up  among  the  docks  and  earls  and 
lords?" 


236  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

The  young  man  nodded  mournfully.  He  did  not  seem 
very  proud  of  it.  "  I  came  out  over  two  years  ago  with  a 
man  who  had  been  here  before,  and  knew  about  the  mine. 
First  we  tried  one  place  in  the  claim,  then  another ;  then 
we  struck  it,  but  not  so  awful  rich.  We  got  capital  and 
used  it ;  then  we  wanted  more  capital,  and  we  couldn't  get 
it.  The  mine  wasn't  rich  enough  to  bring  money  in.  We 
were  three  partners,  one  being  a  native  of  the  West  here. 
They  left  the  mine  at  last  and  came  down  to  Rowney 
City  to  have  a  last  try  for  money. 

"  I  had  a  lot  of  faith  in  that  mine.  I  offered  to  buy 
the  others'  share.  I  had  five  thousand  dollars  which  I 
hadn't  touched — not  in  my  worst  days.  I  found  I  could 
buy  that  whole  mine — their  share  of  it — for  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars,  so  I  gave  them  my  last  five  thousand  dollars, 
and  my  note  for  the  rest,  and  a  mortgage  on  the  machinery. 
After  they  went  away  I  struck  a  reef,  a  drift  that  was 
twice  as  good  as  what  we'd  had,  and  I  believe  it's  three 
times  as  good  further  on.  I  left  a  man  in  charge  of  the 
mine  and  struck  south,  where  my  horse  died  at  the  Mc- 
Mahon's  ranch.  I  bought  one  from  them,  and  I  hadn't 
quite  enough  money  and  offered  to  work  it  out.  That's 
why  I  stayed  there  on  the  ranch — just  a  few  days,  it  was. 
I  didn't  see  anything  wrong  in  the  outfit.  They  told  me 
day  before  yesterday  they  were  going  after  a  bunch  of 
horses  they'd  bought,  and  I  was  to  go  with  them.  I 
went." 

"  An'  you  found  out  that  the  bunch  of  horses  wasn't 
their  own,  an'  the  Riders  come  down  on  you  ?  " 

"  That's  it,"  answered  the  young  man,  drawing  himself 
up  to  a  sitting  posture.  "  I  only  found  out  the  truth  at 
the  last  minute,  and  then  I  went  hoofing  it  to  get  away. 
The  McMahons  got  away  safe,  and  so  did  I,  except  for 


SANCTUARY  237 

this  bullet-wound  and  my  horse  shot  under  me  as  I  rode 
away  hell-for-leather." 

Minden's  eyes  were  alight;  the  old  virus  was  working 
in  his  veins.  "  It  was  a  McMahon  horse  you  rode,  eh  ? 
It  was  branded  with  an  M  ?  " 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"  Say,  that's  real  good,"  answered  Minden.  "  The 
police'll  likely  think  it  was  another  McMahon  moke. 
There  used  to  be  four  McMahons,  but  there's  only  three 
now.  Phil,  the  best  of  them,  vamoosed  South.  They'll 
think  you  was  him,  p'raps.  How  did  you  get  here?  " 

"  I  got  the  trail  and  stumbled  along  somehow,  bleeding 
till  my  boots  were  half  full." 

"  What  made  you  steer  for  me  ?  "  asked  Minden. 

"  Because  of  what  you'd  done  yourself,  as  I  said.  I 
believed  you'd  hide  me,  for  I  didn't  mean  to  do  wrong. 
I  didn't  realize  the  situation.  I  saw  you  once  on  the 
Fraser  River.  I  saw  you  give  fifty  dollars  to  a  poor 
tramp  of  a  fellow  who'd  been  ruined  by  bad  luck.  I  hadn't 
anywhere  to  go  that  seemed  safe,  except  to  you." 

"  But  I'm  a  Christian  now,"  remarked  Minden  dryly, 
and  with  a  glimmer  of  irony. 

"  You  were  a  Christian  then  on  the  Fraser  River  when 
you  gave  a  man  a  chance  to  begin  life  again.  You'll  stand 
by  me,  won't  you?  I  don't  believe  the  Riders  have  traced 
me  here.  You'll  hide  me,  and  get  the  doctor  to  look  after 
me,  and  see  me  through,  won't  you?  I'll  give  you  a  share 
of  my  mine.  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  all  right ! "  he  added,  when  he 
saw  a  smile,  half  cynical,  half  compassionate,  come  upon 
Minden's  face.  "  You  know  all  about  mines,  and  you  must 
take  three  or  four  days  off,  and  go  and  look  at  it.  Make 
your  own  investigations,  and  you'll  see  L" 

"  Say,  that  mine  doesn't  cut  any  ice  with  me,"  Minden 


238  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

responded.  "  I  don't  sell  my  private  hospitality.  That's 
not  the  trouble.  I  do  it  because  the  spirit  moves  me,  an' 
you  can't  buy  that.  You  can't  buy  it  for  money  no  more'n 
you  could  bite  into  a  piece  of  iron  with  your  ivory  teeth. 
Who's  your  father,  and  what's  your  name?"  he  added 
brusquely. 

"  I  call  myself  Mark  Hayling  out  here,  but  my  real 
name  is  Mark  Sheldon,  and  my  father  is  Lord  William 
Sheldon." 

"Who  was  your  grandfather?" 

"  He— he  was  the  Duke  of  Bolton." 

Minden  whistled.  "  Well,  a  man  has  got  to  be  good  to 
a  dook's  son  just  the  same  as  to  the  son  of  a  tinsmith," 
he  remarked,  dryly.  "  You  can  stay  here,  although  it's 
against  the  Christian  religion  to  shelter  a  man  from  the 
law — and  I'm  mayor !  If  what  you  say  is  true,  though — 
an'  I  believe  it  is — an'  you  was  trapped  into  that  McMahon 
scrape,  I'll  help  you  out.  I'll  hide  you,  an'  give  you  my 
wine  and  milk  without  money  and  without  price,  mayor 
or  no  mayor." 

"  If  you  looked  at  the  mine  you'd " 

"  Pshaw,  the  mine  can  wait ! "  interjected  Minden. 
"  I'll  have  a  look  at  it  all  right,  but  there's  no  hurry. 
There's  a  hurry,  though,  about  gettin'  a  doctor  here,  for 
fear  your  wounds  git  poisoned,  an'  I've  got  to  find  a  room 
to  put  you  to  bed  in.  Then  about  that  doctor.  I've 
got  to  tell  him  everything.  He's  all  right,  he's  as  good 
as  gold ;  he's  been  here  ever  since  the  place  started  almost. 
I'd  let  him  see  the  inside  of  my  mind  an'  its  safe  deposit, 
an'  that's  sayin'  a  lot." 

He  paused  reflectively,  and  then,  after  a  minute,  added : 
"  Tell  me  now,  do  you  think  the  police  got  a  glimpse  o3 
your  face?" 


SANCTUARY  239 

"  I'm  certain  they  didn't,"  was  the  reply.  "  Bill  Mc- 
Mahon  opened  fire  from  behind  the  trees — it  was  dusk; 
and  then  we  made  tracks.  I  'don't  think  they  saw  me  even 
when  they  hit  me.  It  must  have  been  a  chance  bullet." 

"  That's  all  O.  K.  It  makes  things  easy.  Son,  we'll 
save  you,  if  it  can  be  done.  Have  you  got  a  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  mother,"  was  the  slow  reply,  "  the  best 
that  ever  was." 

Minden  nodded  sagely.  "  There's  lots  of  good  mothers 
in  this  world ;  there's  one  in  this  house ;  an'  I've  got  to 
rout  her  out  now,  an'  have  her  make  a  bed  for  you  on  the 
next  floor  up.  If  you  can't  walk  I  can  carry  you.  You've 
got  to  have  somethin'  to  eat  an'  drink.  The  three  of 
us  can  look  after  you  all  right — anyhow,  two  of  us  can. 
That's  no  reason  Miss  Finley  shouldn't  get  you  some 
hot  milk  while  her  mother  is  getting  your  bed  ready. 
Think  you'll  be  all  right  for  a  few  minutes,  son?" 

"  I'll  be  right  enough.  This  is  good  enough  for  me.  I 
don't  mind  about  the  doctor ;  tell  him  everything." 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Finley  was  making  the  bed 
ready  in  a  room  a  short  distance  from  her  own.  She  had 
already  gone  to  bed  when  Minden  called  her,  but  Cora 
sat  reading  in  .her  own  room,  and,  hearing  Minden's  voice 
at  her  mother's  door,  came  out  into  the  hall.  Briefly 
Minden  told  her  the  story,  and  she  had  quickly  repeated 
it  to  her  mother. 

Presently  she  herself  was  below  stairs  scalding  milk, 
into  which  she  poured  a  beaten-up  egg  and  sherry.  It  is 
hard  to  tell  what  sort  of  man  she  expected  to  see  in  the 
office.  Minden  had  said  nothing  about  the  youth,  about 
his  handsomeness,  and  soldierly  appearance,  nor  about 
his  name  or  family;  and  she  had  imagined  some  rough 
Westerner  with  a  red  handkerchief  round  his  neck,  with 


240  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

a  hard-bitten  face  and  rough  bony  hands.  When  she 
entered  the  office,  Sheldon  was  on  his  feet,  leaning  on 
Minden's  shoulder,  for  he  was  six  inches  taller.  He  stood, 
head  bent  forward,  with  that  piteous  look  of  despair  which 
seizes  youth  when  checked  on  its  course.  His  look  of 
suffering  softened  the  almost  iron  lines  of  the  shapely 
head,  and  gave  a  touch  of  poetry  to  a  determined  face, 
which  had  more  uprightness,  persistence,  courage,  and 
good  humor  than  aught  else. 

Her  hand  tightened  almost  spasmodically  on  the  glass 
of  milk  she  held  as  her  glance  fell  on  the  wounded  refugee. 
Her  eyes  met  his  in  one  long  look,  and  a  wonderful  smile 
came  to  his  lips.  She  shivered,  however,  as  she  went 
forward  and  held  the  milk  to  his  lips. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Young  Doctor  had  a  talk  with 
Minden  in  his  office.  "  He  will  get  well,  unless  there's 
something  we  can't  see,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor, 
decisively.  "  All  you  ask  is  that  I  keep  my  tongue,  still, 
and  I'm  not  supposed  to  know,  unless  you  tell  me,  that 
the  law  is  after  the  young  fellow.  And  you're  mayor! 
I  like  the  young  man,"  he  added,  reflectively.  "  He  has 
eyes  that  no  Ananias  ever  had,  and  he  has  looks,  too; 
but  there's  a  young  lady  we  both  know  in  this  house, 
Mayor.  Have  you  thought  of  that  ?" 

Minden  nodded,  and  turned  away  his  head.  After  a 
moment  he  said,  "  Yes,  that's  all  right.  She  can  take 
care  of  herself." 


CHAPTER  VI 
MINDEN  TO  THE  RESCUE 

WEEKS  went  by.  In  spite  of  Minden's  powers  of 
self-control  he  found  himself  at  times  so  agitated  that 
more  than  once  he  mounted  his  horse,  rode  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  into  the  prairie  and  back  again, "  to  work  off  steam." 
When  the  conviction  came  to  him  that  Sheldon  was  to  play 
a  part  in  Cora's  life,  he  began  to  reflect,  and  then  to 
trouble  himself  greatly. 

Here  was  Sheldon,  a  comet  with  a  long  tail  of  travel, 
adventure,  and  life — life  topped  by  a  tuft  of  involuntary 
crime ;  penniless,  homeless,  helpless ;  and  here  was  Cora, 
the  seed  and  stem,  the  bud  and  flower  of  a  community, 
to  whom  men  and  women  pointed  as  one  who  could  be 
both  beautiful  and  good;  was  she  to  link  herself  with 
such  a  man  of  mystery  and  misdemeanor,  with  no  future 
except  a  problematical  scoop  out  of  a  problematical  gold 
'mine? 

If  Sheldon  'had  spoken  the  whole  truth  then  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  might  not  be  so  hard,  seeing  Mrs. 
Finley's  attitude  towards  him.  Like  many  a  woman  who 
has  had  a  man  in  her  home  and  has  lost  him,  so  losing 
also  the  opportunity  for  mothering,  the  opportunity 
afforded  Mrs.  Finley  by  Sheldon's  arrival  was  like  a  gift 
from  Heaven.  Yet  she  remained  watchful  and  con- 
cerned ;  for  no  matter  how  reputable  the  young  man — 
Minden  had  not  told  her  all — he  certainly  had  not  "  got 
religion,"  and  she  did  her  best  to  keep  Cora  from  intimacy 
with  him. 

When  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bedroom,  however, 
1 6  241 


242  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

and  use  Mrs.  Finley's  sitting  room,  watching  on  her  part 
became  onerous,  with  her  many  exacting  daily  duties, 
while  Cora's  gravitation  towards  Sheldon  was  natural 
and  frequent 

The  public  only  knew  of  his  presence  in  the  Rest 
Awhile  Hotel  after  the  Riders  of  the  Plains  had  reported 
to  the  commissioner  an  encounter  with  unidentified  horse- 
thieves,  though  they  had  good  reason  to  suspect  that  they 
were  the  McMahons.  As  evidence  there  was  the  dead 
horse  ridden  by  Sheldon,  branded  with  the  letter  M. 

The  McMahons,  however,  were  found  asleep  in  their 
beds  when  the  Riders  raided  their  ranch  soon  after  the 
encounter.  Bill  McMahon  said  that  the  horse  had  been 
stolen  from  their  paddock,  and  this  was  borne  out  by  the 
evidence  of  hired  hands.  The  McMahons  knew  what  had 
happened  to  Sheldon,  and  where  he  was,  but  they  knew 
well,  also,  that  he  would  remain  silent.  Before  ten  days 
•had  gone  interest  in  it  was  replaced  by  other  sensational 
events,  demanding  the  attention  of  the  Riders. 

Concerning  his  relations  with  the  McMahons,  Minden 
believed  that  Sheldon  spoke  the  truth ;  but  there  was  the 
question  of  his  origin,  A  previous  mayor  of  the  town 
had  been  an  Englishman,  and  he  had  fortified  himself 
for  his  office  by  a  good  reference  library.  One  or  two 
volumes  like  Kelly's  "  County  Families,"  and  "  Debrett," 
were  found  useful  by  subsequent  mayors  when  traveling 
members  of  "  the  best  families; "  of  Great  Britain  visited 
Askatoon. 

With  a  pleasurable  yet  anxious  excitement,  and  with 
a  little  awe,  Minden  approached  these  books  for  a  history 
of  Sheldon's  family. 

His  fingers  had  never  trembled  on  the  trigger,  nor  had 
had  a  tremor  in  time  of  danger,  but  they  shook  a  little 


MINDEN  TO  THE  RESCUE  243 

now — perhaps  it  was  age  creeping  on — as  he  turned  over 
the  page  to  the  index  letter  S.  After  a  few  moments  of 
attentive  search  they  suddenly  halted  on  a  page. 

Yes,  there  it  was.  There  was  the  celebrated  genealogy 
and  history  of  the  dukes  of  Bolton ;  there  was  the  name 
of  Mark  Sheldon,  grandson  of  the  sixth  duke,  sometime 
of  the  Household  Cavalry,  now  a  fugitive  from  justice, 
impounded  in  the  Rest  A,while  Hotel  of  Askatoon.  There 
he  was,  the  grandson  of  a  duke,  in  Bill  Minden's  house, 
talking  to  Bill  Minden  and  his  daughter,  and  her  reputed 
mother,  just  as  though  they  had  been  brought  up  together ! 
But  that  was  due  to  a  kind  of  manner  Sheldon  had,  a 
(manner  Minden  had  seen  among  Indians,  Chinese,  and 
mountaineers. 

The  idea  of  Cora  taking  to  the  grandson  of  a  duke  and 
of  his  taking  to  her  pleased  him,  but  it  also  startled  him,  A 
kind  of  panic  took  possession  of  him.  What  might  have 
been  a  splendid  prospect  for  an  ambitious  eye  suddenly 
became  a  moor  of  blackened  gorse  and  heather  to  Minden's 
vision.  Then  it  was  he  lunged  up  and  down  his  office 
talking  aloud  to  himself,  tempted  even  to  blasphemy,  yet 
not  yielding. 

If  the  class-leaders  of  Grace  Methodist  Church  could 
have  seen  him  in  such  a  state  they  would  have  declared 
him  imperfectly  saved.  They  would  have  said  it  was  his 
duty  to  take  the  whole  matter  to  the  Throne  of  Grace. 
No  doubt  they  were  right,  for  the  old  Adam  was  still  much 
alive  in  the  mayor  of  Askatoon. 

No  repose  came  to  Minden's  mind;  none  could  come 
until  he  had  tested  the  last  and  most  important  state- 
ment made  by  Sheldon  of  the  mine  and  its  imprisoned 
fortunes.  It  seemed  mean  to  suspect  him  of  untruth.  In 
his  heart  of  hearts  he  believed,  but  a  great  anxiety  con- 


244  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

cerning  the  welfare  of  his  daughter  forced  him  to  be 
cautious.  Had  he  not  thrown  the  young  man  in  her  way 
by  harboring  him? 

Why  not  visit  the  mine,  and  find  out  the  facts  beyond 
peradventure  ?  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  it, 
however,  until  fully  three  weeks  after  the  patient's  removal 
from  Mrs.  Finley's  end  of  the  house  to  his  own,  where 
Sheldon  showed  himself  in  the  public  rooms  of  the  hotel. 

On  the  first  day  he  made  his  appearance  in  the  public 
dining  room,  who  should  appear  but  one  of  his  sometime 
partners  of  the  Sink-or-Swim  Mine ! 

Straightway  Sheldon  sent  for  Minden  and  introduced 
the  two.  Sheldon's  late  partner  was  on  his  way  East.  It 
could  be  seen  he  was  cynical  concerning  the  prospects  of 
the  mine,  but  the  main  truth  of  Sheldon's  story  was 
established,  and  the  erstwhile  partner  left  with  mingled 
admiration  for  Sheldon's  courage  and  pity  for  his  fatuity. 

It  was  otherwise  with  Bill  Minden.  Within  twenty- 
four  hours  he  was  on  his  way  North  to  investigate  the 
mine,  taking  with  him  an  expert  assayist.  Something  of 
the  old  zeal  of  the  coach-road  and  the  switchman's  red 
light  filled  the  mind  of  William  Minden,  Esq.,  mayor, 
school-trustee,  class-leader,  and  revivalist,  as  he  neared 
his  destination.  He  arrived,  he  explored,  he  found;  he 
saw,  and  saw  enough. 

Thirty-six  hours  later,  in  his  hotel  office  at  Askatoon, 
he  sat  closeted  with  his  unpaying  guest.  Neither  Sheldon, 
Mrs.  Finley,  nor  Cora  had  known  the  cause  of  his  absence 
during  the  preceding  four  days. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  that  mine?"  he 
said  ta  Sheldon.  "And  what  are  you  going  to  do 
anyhow?" 

"  I  am  writing  for  two  hundred  pounds — a  thousand 


MINDEN  TO  THE  RESCUE  245 

dollars,"  was  Sheldon's  answer.  "  It's  coming  from  Mon- 
treal. It  was  sent  there  on  deposit  for  me  from  my 
father.  That  will  pay  my  bill  here,  won't  it?  " 

Minden  made  a  wide,  generous  gesture.  "  You  ain't 
got  any  bill  here,  son,"  he  said,  "  'cept  the  doctor's  bill. 
He's  got  to  be  paid,  of  course,  but  your  name  ain't  on 
my  books.  I  was  once  nussed  myself  when  I  was  shot 
by  a  constable.  I  was  five  weeks  in  the  house  where  two 
women  and  a  man  tended  me,  an'  they  wouldn't  take 
anything  from  me;  but  they  never  knew  how  the  mort- 
gage was  lifted  from  their  farm.  That  I  done  in  return 
for  goods  received.  They  never  made  any  charge  on 
nie — none  at  all,  and  I  ain't  makin'  any  charge  on  you, 
I  guess." 

Sheldon  smiled.  It  was  a  shy  and  restrained  smile. 
"  I'll  remember  that,  and  I'll  lift  a  mortgage  for  you  when 
the  Sink-or-Swim  is  making  five  thousand  dollars  a 
day,"  he  remarked. 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  know.  What  about  your 
mine?  Is  it  movin'?" 

A  shadow  crossed  the  young  man's  face,  but  he  looked 
straight  into  Minden's  eyes.  "  I  haven't  the  least  idea 
how  I'm  going  to  get  the  cash  to  make  that  mine  move, 
but  I  believe  in  it,  as  I  believe  I've  got  two  hands  and 
two  eyes  and  a  mouth  that  never  lost  a  tooth.  I  haven't 
begun  to  stir  yet,  but  there's  going  to  be  stirring;  the 
mine  must  move  on.  I  want  twenty  thousand  dollars 
to  put  that  money-machine  in  motion  again  and  give  me 
a  chance  to  show  a  steady  output  for  awhile. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  pay  for  more  stamps,  just  as 
soon  as  I  can  pay  wages,  I'm  going  to  pull  the  beginning 
of  a  fortune  out  of  her.  There's  a  good  many  million 
dollars  in  this  country,  and  there's  a  lot  of  men  who  have 


246  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

got  money  and  want  to  make  more;  well,  I'll  give  them 
their  chance.  But  mind  you,  Mr.  Minden,  I  am  going 
to  have  and  keep  three-quarters  of  the  stock  of  the  Sink- 
or-Swim,  and  I'd  rather  see  it  shut  up  for  ever  than 
not  own  fifty  per  cent,  of  its  stock.  If  it  proved  a  success 
— and  it  will — and  I  didn't  have  half  of  it,  I'd  go  grous- 
ing all  the  rest  of  my  life.  I'm  not  going  to  grouse; 
I'm  going  to  have  all  that's  in  that  mine  up  to  seventy-five 
per  cent.  I  haven't  the  least  idea  how  it  is  to  be  done, 
but  there's  my  policy." 

"  I've  got  idea  plenty  how  it  can  be  done,"  answered 
Minden.  "  How  would  you  like  to  give  me  a  mortgage 
on  the  mine  an'  take  your  twenty  thousand  dollars  with 
you?" 

The  young  man's  eyes  stared  hard  at  Minden,  his  hands 
resting  on  his  knees  seemed  to  clinch  spasmodically.  He 
doubted  what  he  had  heard. 

"  Don't  make  fun  of  a  man  that's  down,"  he  said.  "  It's 
one  thing  I  can't  joke  about — that  mine.  If  you  were  to 
swear  on  the  Bible  what  you've  said  just  now,  I'd  ask 
you  to  swear  it  again." 

Minden  got  up,  opened  a  desk,  and  took  out  a  little 
black  Bible  having  that  greasy  look  which  the  wax  of 
time  gives.  He  laid  it  on  the  table  between  them,  sat 
down  and  placed  his  hand  on  it. 

"  Once,  and  then  twice,  an'  then  as  many  times  as  you 
like,  Mr.  Sheldon,"  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice. 

Sheldon  got  to  his  feet,  placed  his  hands  on  the  table 
and  leaned  over  towards  Minden  with  a  devouring  look. 
"You  mean  it?  Why,  you've  never  seen  the  place.  I 
might  be  lying  to  you." 

"  Yes,  you  might,  you  naturally  might,  but  you  natur- 
ally ain't,  because  you  ain't  built  that  way,"  answered 


MINDEN  TO  THE  RESCUE  247 

Minden.  "  I  know  all  about  that  mine.  I've  been  there. 
I  took  the  best  assayist  in  the  country  with  me.  I  know 
what  I'm  doing.  You  can  have  the  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  with  a  mortgage  on  the  whole  mine ;  but  I'd  rather 
buy  straight  out  a  quarter  of  the  mine,  if  you'd  take  me  on 
as  a  quiet,  sleepin'  partner." 

The  young  man  sank  down  in  his  chair,  and  dropped 
his  head  into  his  hands.  "  This  takes  the  starch  out  of 
me,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  I  apologize ;  it's  everything  to  me. 
I  was  just  starting  life  again,  and  I  was  dead  stopped. 
I  couldn't  go  to  my  father  and  ask  for  more ;  he  has  done 
all  he  can.  So  I  was  going  out  like  a  commercial  traveler 
to  drum  up  cash,  with  that  beautiful  mine  just  waiting 
to  pour  itself  out ;  and  now  here  you're  starting  me  fair 
again !  " 

He  got  to  his  feet  once  more.  "  I'll  make  it  go ;  it 
shall  be  a  winner,"  he  said. 

His  eyes  were  moist  and  his  hands  trembling,  but  the 
look  on  his  face  was  the  look  of  ten  men  facing  a  hun- 
dred, but  sure  that  the  end  of  the  battle  was  theirs. 

"  Say,  son,  keep  cool,"  said  Minden  cheerfully.  "  It's 
all  right.  I'll  give  you  the  check  in  an  hour.  Steady 
now,  steady  on,  son." 

He  had  his  hands  on  the  young  man's  shoulders,  and 
then  all  at  once  he  released  them.  He  had  used  a  very 
common  friendly  word  of  Western  greeting — the  word 
son;  and  now,  suddenly,  it  had  taken  a  new  and  tremen- 
dous significance.  He  flushed  and  turned  away  to  his 
desk. 

"  Is  it  going  to  be  a  mortgage  or  a  sale  ?  "  he  asked 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  A  sale,  of  course,"  Sheldon  answered. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BY  THE  WAYSIDE 

IN  the  late  afternoon  of  the  day  when  Minden  gave 
him  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  a  quarter  of  his  mine, 
Sheldon  took  the  air  for  the  first  time  since  his  coming 
to  the  "  Rest  Awhile." 

Ever  since  the  one-sided  bargain  was  made  he  had  been 
in  a  dream.  Wonderful  visions  of  the  future  flitted 
through  his  brain.  For  two  or  three  hours  it  had  worked 
excitedly,  and  he  had  defined  his  plans  for  the  immediate 
future  with  a  sharp  decision  natural  to  him.  There  was 
much  of  the  soldier  about  him — not  the  soldier  of  routine, 
rather  the  soldier  of  tactics  and  strategy.  The  twenty 
thousand  dollars  would  set  the  mine  working,  would  in- 
crease the  machinery,  would  provide  for  further  prospect- 
ing and  a  search  for  the  drift  which,  dropped  at  one  point, 
must  be  picked  up  again  somewhere  else. 

He  was  impatiently  eager  to  get  the  Sink-or-Swim  well 
f  orward  again  be  fore  the  winter  set  in.  He  made  his  plans 
with  the  idea  that  he  would  leave  Askatoon  within  a  week. 

As  he  slowly  traveled  the  main  street  to  the  bridge 
crossing  the  river,  gratitude  to  Minden  possessed  him. 
No  compunctions  existed  in  his  mind  as  to  the  source  of 
Minden's  wealth.  If  the  conscience  of  Minden,  who  was 
a  class-leader,  permitted  him  to  use  the  money  got  with- 
out labor  and  investment,  without  inheritance  or  toil,  but 
which,  perhaps,  other  people  had  got  through  such  sources 
and  had  delivered  up  to  Minden  under  pressure,  his  own 
conscience  would  not  trouble  itself.  Besides,  this  tainted 
money  was  to  be  used  in  a  virtuous  enterprise  which,  if 
248 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  249 

successful,  would  make  his  future  secure,  make  good,  as 
the  prairie  people  say,  the  promise  of  his  youth,  redeem 
his  past. 

As  he  neared  the  end  of  the  street  opening  on  to  the 
bridge,  two  men  drove  past  him  in  a  buggy.  They  were 
Bill  and  Matt  McMahon. 

As  they  passed  him,  without  reining  in  their  horses, 
Bill  McMahon  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  buggy  and  with 
a  savage  sneer  said :  "  God,  but  you  had  a  lot  of  luck ! 
Makin'  for  jail  you  dropped  into  tihe  bosom  of  the  family — 
keep  your  mouth  shut,  damn  you ! " 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  lot  of  luck,"  Sheldon  said  to  himself  as 
they  drove  on.  "  I  might  have  been  doing  hard  labor, 
with  nothing  in  front  of  me  at  all,  at  all ;  and  here  I  am 
with  better  chances  than  I've  ever  known." 

He  turned  and  looked  after  the  McMahons,  a  curtain 
of  dust  rolling  up  behind  them  on  their  swift  journey 
into  the  town.  "  You  devils,"  he  exclaimed,  "  something 
worse  than  jail  will  bring  you  up  with  a  sharp  turn ! " 

With  a  shudder  and  a  swift  upward  motion  of  the 
hands,  as  though  freeing  himself  from  an  ugly  thought, 
he  moved  slowly  across  the  bridge,  and  was  making  for 
Nolan  Doyle's  ranch  Mayo,  when  he  saw  another  buggy 
approaching. 

Suddenly  a  faintness  came  over  him.  The  sun  was 
still  hot,  though  the  day  was  well  past,  but  he  had  walked 
too  fast  for  the  first  outing  after  his  illness.  He  stepped 
to  one  side,  and  leaned  against  a  solitary  tree,  which 
threw  a  timorous  shade  over  a  small  portion  of  the  gold- 
brown  prairie.  He  did  not  lieed  the  on-coming  buggy,  his 
eyes  were  bent  upon  the  ground  in  thought,  for  the  meet- 
ing with  the  McMahons  had  unnerved  thim.  It  snatched 
him  out  of  his  dream,  back  into  the  danger  where  he  had 


JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

been,  and  he  realized  with  a  force  never  before  felt  what 
he  had  escaped.  Indeed,  but  the  luck  had  been  with  him ! 

Presently  he  was  conscious  that  the  buggy  had  stopped 
beside  him,  and  before  he  saw  its  occupant  he  abstractedly 
watched  the  surf  of  dust  settling  at  the  wheels.  Then 
he  heard  what  brought  his  head  up  quickly,  and  sent  into 
his  eyes  a  delighted  look  of  recognition. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Mr.  Sheldon  ?  "  a  charm- 
ing voice  asked.  "  Well,  I  never !  You  ought  to  be 
whipped.  Who  let  you  out?  You  aren't  fit  to  walk  yet, 
but  I  suppose  you've  come  all  the  way  from  home." 

He  nodded,  and  smiled  with  a  curious  meaning. 
"  Yes,  I  have  walked  all  the  way  from  home,"  he  answered. 

It  was  strange  that  she  should  speak  of  the  Rest 
Awhile  Hotel  as  home.  Yet  it  was  home  in  the  sense 
that  he  had  never  known  home  for  very  many  years.  It 
was  'home  because  she  was  there,  the  daughter  of  a  woman 
who  had  an  income  of  five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  He 
had  'been  born  in  a  castle,  he  had  been  friendly  with  a  hun- 
dred county  families  with  their  marriageable  daughters, 
yet  the  naturalness,  the  self-respect,  and  the  sweet  musing 
charm  of  this  girl  had  been  to  him  like  a  cleansing  shower 
through  which  the  sun  shone. 

Three  weeks  in  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel,  caravansary 
as  it  was,  had  made  him  feel  that  it  was  more  home  to 
him  than  any  other  place  in  the  world.  The  companion- 
ship of  a  reformed  criminal  and  the  finely  austere  friend- 
ship of  an  elderly  woman  who -had  never  seen  the  ocean  or 
a  great  city,  had  brought  a  new  understanding  of  life  to 
him.  With  that  had  come  something  else  which  this  girl 
with  the  faint  rose  in  her  cheeks  and  the  mysterious  yet 
frank  look  in  her  blue  eyes  represented. 

The  other  two  had  brought  him  friendship ;  she  had 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  251 

brought  him  he  knew  not  what — he  only  felt  that  where 
she  was  he  wanted  to  be.  When  she  was  there  he  wanted 
not  to  speak ;  and  when  she  was  gone  he  counted  the  hours 
and  the  minutes  till  she  returned.  When  she  returned  he 
counted  the  minutes  until  she  must  leave  him  again ;  and 
when  she  was  with  him  he  invented  a  hundred  devices 
for  keeping  her. 

"  Come,  get  in,"  she  said.    "  I'll  drive  you  back  home." 

Did  she,  too,  then,  regard  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel  as 
home?  What  was  it,  indeed,  but  a  gipsy  tent  to  which 
all  might  come  and  pay  and  pass  on  their  way !  The  truth 
is,  she  had  never  spoken  of  it  in  that  way  before.  It  had 
come  to  her  as  she  looked  at  him,  pale  and  overdone, 
leaning  against  that  solitary  tree. 

"  Get  in,"  she  repeated,  with  a  pretty  authoritative 
flick  of  the  whip. 

He  smiled  and  came  forward.  "  I'm  not  one  of  your 
pupils  that  you  can  use  a  whip  on,"  he  said  in  mock 
protest. 

"  Yes,  you  are  my  pupil,"  she  answered.  "  At  any 
rate,  you're  not  old  enough  to  know  what  you  ought  to 
do,  arra  a  little  whipping  might  do  you  a  great  deal  of 
good." 

"  Did  you  get  a  great  deal  of  whipping  sometime  or 
other?"  he  asked. 

"  I  never  needed  it.  I  never  was  whipped  in  my  life. 
My  mother  never  even  slapped  me  once,"  she  indignantly 
remarked. 

"  Then  what  made  you  so  good?  "  he  questioned. 

She  laughed  gaily.  "  I  was  born  good  I  suppose,"  she 
answered  mockingly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Then  you  had  a  better  chance 
than  most  of  us.  Look  what  it  costs  me  to  be  any  sort 


252  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

of  good.  Look  what  it  costs  Mr.  Minden  to  be  any  sort 
of  good." 

A  strange,  almost  rapt  look  came  into  the  girl's  face. 
"Yes,  it  is  wonderful  about  him,"  she  said;  "oh,  but 
wonderful !  Do  come." 

He  put  one  hand  on  the  rail  of  the  buggy-seat  and  the 
other  on  the  dash-board,  and  was  about  to  mount  when  he 
stopped  and  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  drive  home.  I  want 
to  be  in  the  open  air  awhile  yet.  Haven't  you  got  an 
hour  you  can  spare  before  supper?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  answered  frankly.  "  I  have  just 
been  over  to  Nolan  Doyle's  ranch,  seeing  that  new  baby 
that  Mrs.  Doyle  has  adopted.  I've  nothing  else  to  do 
except  to  see  that  you  don't  spoil  all  the  nursing  you've 
had  the  last  three  weeks  by  walking  yourself  sick.  How 
would  you  like  to  go  down  the  river  bank  to  the  old  Hud- 
son Bay  Company  fort,  about  two  miles  ?  It's  shady  there, 
and  I've  got  a  fishing-rod  and  line  hid  in  the  fort.  There's 
a  splendid  place  for  rock  bass  just  below  the  fort.  You'd 
love  it.  And  if  you  really  want  to  do  any  work  you  can 
dig  for  bait.  What's  more,  Mrs.  Doyle  insisted  on  my 
having  some  tea-cakes  and  a  bottle  of  what  she  calls  cream 
nectar.  So  we  can  have  a  real  picnic.  You  ought  to  have 
some  fun,  you  know,  after  being  cooped  up  in  that " 

He  interrupted  her.  "  In  that  happy  home,"  he  ex- 
claimed, seating  himself  comfortably  beside  her.  "  I  really 
was  in  prison,  but  I  wasn't  cooped  up." 

"  In  prison — I  don't  understand,"  she  rejoined. 

Half  turning,  he  was  about  to  look  her  straight  in  the 
eyes,  but  he  did  not  do  so ;  and  he  was  wise. 

"  Still,  I  am  a  captive,"  he  repeated,  with  a  sidelong 
glance,  as  though  to  see  how  she  took  it. 

She  did  take  it  with  a  sudden  little  flush,  but  coquetry 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  253 

was  native  to  her,  though  she  had  used  it  so  little,  and  she 
answered :  "  Yes,  you  were  captive.  The  Young  Doctor 
was  the  jailer,  and  we  other  three  were  the  warders,  whose 
duty  was  to  see  that  you  atoned  for  your  crimes." 

She  had  turned  the  horse  into  the  trail  leading  to  the 
fort,  and  flicked  it  gently  with  her  whip.  Unconsciously 
she  wished  to  reach  the  goal  quickly.  So  far  she  had  only 
talked  with  him  within  four  walls,  and  she  was  not  used 
to  these  living  minutes  with  him  in  the  open  air.  Some- 
how, it  had  just  a  feeling  of  impropriety.  This,  of  course, 
was  absurd,  but  behind  her  natural  openness  there  was  a 
curious  reticence  and  sensitiveness,  and  it  was  as  though 
she  hastened  to  the  river  and  the  old  fort  so  that  the 
world's  eyes  could  not  be  upon  her  as  she  sat -beside  him. 

Atoned  for  his  crimes!  A  strange  look  passed  over 
Sheldon's  face.  Yes,  he  had  paid  something  of  the  price 
of  atonement,  tout  not  all.  She  did  not  know  about  the 
horse-stealing.  Minden  had  not  told  her.  Suddenly  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  tell  her  the  whole  truth. 
But  not  yet;  he  would  wait  until  they  reached  the  fort. 
He  also  was  seized  by  her  desire  for  seclusion. 

"  This  is  a  real  bit  of  luck,"  he  said.  "  I  was  hungry, 
and  you  bring  me  some  cakes;  I  was  thirsty,  and  you 
bring  me  some  drink ;  I  was  dying  for  some  sport,  and 
you've  got  a  fishing-rod.  I  wanted  to  see  you  " — his  voice 
altered — "and  here  you  are.  This  is  my  lucky  day. 
Yes,  it  is  my  lucky  day,"  he  added.  ft  No  man  ever  had 
so  much  in  one  day  as  I've  had.  I  was  let  out  of  prison 
to-day,  and  someone  met  me  at  the  prison-gates,  and 
offered  to  give  me  a  new  start  in  life,  and  then  you  came, 
and " 

He  paused  as  she  looked  at  him  inquiringly.  She 
caught  the  undertone  of  sentiment  in  his  voice,  but  she 


254  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

grasped  also  at  some  deeper  meaning.  She  did  not  ques- 
tion him  nor  speak ;  she  waited.  She  had  a  woman's  in- 
stinct that  he  had  something  to  tell  her,  and  she  had  a 
further  instinct  that  what  he  had  to  tell  her  was  not  what 
a  number  of  men  had  tried  to  tell  her  in  <her  short  life.  Of 
late  there  had  grown  a  feeling  within  her  that  she  wanted 
to  know  about  his  past  life  and  what  he  was  going  to  do 
in  the  future.  Perhaps  her  wish  was  to  be  granted  now. 

A  little  while  later,  as  they  sat  on  the  high  bank  of  the 
river,  a  fishing-rod  in  her  hand,  his  back  against  a  tree, 
with  the  bait  by  his  side,  he  said  to  her  as  she  gazed  in- 
tently into  the  water :  "  So  you  think  it's  wonderful  that 
Minden  can  be  as  good  as  he  is  with  all  he  has  had  to 
fight  against  ?  " 

She  flicked  her  line  into  the  water,  then  turned  to  him 
with  'shining  steadfast  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  think  it  is  truly 
wonderful ;  but  there  must  have  been  more  good  than  bad 
in  him  at  the  start.  I  don't  believe  people  become  good 
that  are  bad  at  the  start;  but  if  they  are  good  at  the 
start,  then  I  think  that  childhood  and  the  memory  and 
influence  of  it  is  the  master  of  a  man's  or  a  woman's  fate. 
Everything  in  the  world  loses  its  hold  on  us  except  child- 
hood. Mr.  Minden  must  have  been  right  just  at  the  start. 
I've  heard  him  speak  about  his  wife — it  was  beautiful. 
H)e  had  a  child  and  lost  her.  Isn't  it  a  pity?  But  if  -he 
couldn't  go  straight,  perhaps  it  was  better  the  child  died. 
If  she  had  ever  known  what  he  became  it  might  have 
killed  her.  A  woman  can't  stand  being  shamed  by  a  man 
she  loves.  She  may  hide  it,  but  down,  down,  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart  it's  an  ache  that  goes  on  and  on  and  on." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why,  just  by  instinct,  and  by  watching.    In  a  place 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  255 

like  this,  with  thousands  of  people,  you  can  see  and  hear 
a  good  many  life-stories." 

"  Minden  is  the  most  contradictory  man  I've  ever 
known/'  he  said  after  a  moment.  "  I  agree  with  you ; 
he  must  have  been  right  at  the  start.  But  what  a  wonder- 
ful thing,  when  he  has  lived  two-thirds  of  his  time  out, 
that  he  can  rightabout- face  and  live  as  though  he  had 
never  done  any  wrong.  He's  mayor  now  and  school- 
trustee!  It  needs  enormous  will-power.  Think,  too,  of 
what  that  will-power  might  have  meant  if  it  had  been 
given  to  the  straight  things  from  the  start." 

There  was  a  brief  interlude  in  which  the  girl  detached 
from  her  fish-hook  a  fine  bass,  which  had  made  a  gallant 
struggle,  but  after  he  had  baited  the  hook  again,  and  she 
had  thrown  her  line,  she  said : 

"  It  isn't  will-power  that  has  made  Mr.  Minden  what  he 
is  now.  Will-power  couldn't  do  it.  It  was  a  Power 
Above  that  he  reached  for  and  got." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  searching  intentness. 
He  had  never  known  anything  like  this.  Here  was  simple 
Christian  faith  in  a  character  sportive,  cheerful,  practical, 
even  world-wise  in  its  own  way  and  a  little  coquettish,  too. 

Surely  it  was  contradictory,  and  yet  she  seemed  com- 
pletely real.  If  he  had  known  the  exact  truth  he  would 
have  realized  that  she  was  Bill  Minden,  but  what  a  differ- 
ent Bill  Minden !  All  Bill's  contradictions  and  paradoxes 
were  here,  but  native  virtue  and  goodness  had  prevailed 
in  her ;  while  Minden's  native  instinct  for  virtue  and  good- 
ness had  ibeen  ruled  by  waywardness,  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture, and  a  loosely  held  moral  sense. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  dreamily,  "  I  never  met  so 
kind  a  man  as  Mr.  Minden.  In  spite  of  being  so  busy  as 
mayor  and  with  the  hotel,  he  thinks  of  a  hundred  little 


256  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

things  to  make  you  happy.  Somehow  in  spite  of  all  he 
ever  did  I  can't  bring  myself  to  think  hateful  things  about 
him.  Mother  did,  though.  At  first  she  was  his  enemy, 
but  I  never  was.  I  like  being  with  him.  He's  so  modest 
he  makes  you  feel  that  if  he  had  to  choose  between  you 
and  the  angels  he  would  choose  you ! " 

"  Well,  so  would  I,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  was  Sheldon's 
quick  comment. 

He  saw  a  flush  mount  to  her  cheek,  but  she  did  not  look 
at  him,  and  he  did  not  follow  up  his  tender  attack. 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  stick  it  out  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Don't 
you  believe  he'll  tire  of  being  what  he  is  now,  and  will 
backslide  ?  Won't  there  be  a  reaction  when  the  charm  of 
respectability  has  worn  off  ?  " 

She  flicked  her  line  almost  angrily  out  of  the  water 
and  in  again,  and  her  eyes  flashed  as  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Haven't  I  said  it  isn't  his  will  or  anything  that  be- 
longs to  him  that's  doing  it  ?  He  gets  help  from  God." 

How  invincibly  sincere  Cora  was !  There  was  no  cant, 
no  sentimentality  in  her  voice  or  words.  In  the  circles 
Sheldon  had  frequented  that  kind  of  religion  had  not 
existed — supreme  philosophy,  rather,  for  it  did  not  sound 
like  religion.  It  made  him  feel  greatly  secure  where  she 
was  concerned. 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  Sheldon  replied. 
"  There's  no  sweetness  like  that  of  running  straight.  I 
was  good  once.  Yes,  I  really  think  I  was  good  at  the 
start,"  he  added,  and  then  he  paused. 

He  saw  the  fish-pole  suddenly  dip  in  her  hands,  as 
though  they  weakened ;  he  noticed  the  sudden  arrest  of 
those  indefinable  motions  of  the  body  at  ease,  then  her 
head  turned  slowly  towards  him,  and  with  painful  wonder 
she  said : 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  257 

"  Haven't  you  always  been  good  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  all  about  it — all.  I  want  you  to  know.  No  one 
knows  all  except  you,  that  is,  except  you  when  I've  told 
you.  But  Mr.  Minden  knows  far  more  than  you  do.  He 
has  been  good  to  me — I  knew  he  would  be ;  that's  why  I 
made  for  him  when  they  shot  me  for  horse-stealing." 

He  caught  the  fishing-rod  which  was  dropping  from  her 
'hands,  as  her  face  became  white,  and  her  eyes  had  a 
bewildered  and  shocked  look.  Yet  she  seemed  not  to 
shrink  from  him,  but  to  hold  herself  steadily. 

"  Horse-stealing !  ...  I  do  not  believe  you.  But  go 
on — tell  me !  "  she  said  in  a  low,  weak  voice. 

He  told  her  all  his  past — of  his  few  years  in  the  House- 
hold Cavalry,  of  his  getting  into  debt  through  baccarat, 
and  being  obliged  to  leave  the  army ;  of  his  joining  the 
gendarmerie  in  Macedonia;  then  of  his  final  effort  to 
reinstate  himself,  to  make  a  home  and  a  fortune.  He  told 
her  of  discounted  expectations  and  the  selling  of  rever- 
sionary rights  in  order  to  make  this  hunt  for  gold.  Then 
at  last  he  related  the  tale  of  his  abandonment  of  the  mine, 
of  his  sojourn  at  the  McMahons'  ranch,  of  the  horse-raid, 
of  the  encounter  with  the  Riders  of  the  Plains,  of  the 
bullet  in  his  side  and  his  struggle  to  reach  the  Rest  Awhile 
Hotel,  and  of  what  Minden  had  done  for  him  this  very 
day. 

"  Don't  you  loathe  me  for  it  all — for  chucking  my  life 
away  at  the  start  like  that  ?  According  to  the  law  of  the 
land  I'm  a  criminal,  a  horse-thief."  He  looked  at  her 
with  intense  inquiry. 

"  You  weren't  horse-stealing,"  she  protested.  "  You 
didn't  know  the  McMahons  were  stealing  the  'horses.  You 
said  so  yourself  just  now." 

17 


258  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  And  you  believe  me  ?  " 

She  looked  him  wonderingly  in  the  eyes.  "  Why,  of 
course  I  believe  you." 

"  Though  I'm  an  Episcopalian — and  never  had  religion, 
as  you  Methodists  say." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  some  Episcopalians  get  to  heaven," 
she  answered  demurely. 

"  Don't  you  think  what  Mr.  Minden  has  done  for  me 
is  one  of  the  biggest  things  one  man  ever  did  for  another?  " 
he  asked  presently.  "What  do  you  suppose  made  him 
doit?" 

A  mist  came  into  her  eyes  and  a  rapt  expression  to  her 
face.  "  Perhaps  he  felt  you  ought  to  have  your  chance," 
she  answered.  "  Perhaps  if  somebody  sometime  had  done 
the  same  to  him  he  mightn't  have  had  so  much  to  be  sorry 
for.  Don't  you  think  that's  it  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so  at  first,"  he  replied,  "  but  I'm  not  so  sure 
flow.  I  can't  understand  it." 

"  He  treats  me  almost  as  if  I  belonged  to  him,"  she 
added,  in  a  hushed  sort  of  voice.  "  I  keep  wondering 
how  he  ever  could  have  been  bad  at  all." 

Suddenly  Sheldon  seemed  to  pull  himself  together. 
"  There  is  one  more  thing  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"  It's  not  a  crime,  but  it  was  a  bad  business  enough.  I 
wasn't  going  steady  when  I  did  it.  ...  At  the  time  I 
came  a  cropper  with  baccarat,  I  married." 

Horror  and  apprehension  seemed  to  take  possession  of 
the  girl.  She  whipped  the  line  out  of  the  water,  and  laid 
the  rod  down  upon  the  ground ;  then,  clasping  her  hands 
tightly  in  her  lap,  she  turned  her  face  away  from  him 
towards  the  farther  shore  of  the  river. 

"What  is  there  to  tell  about  that?"  she  asked  in  a 
cheerless  voice. 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  259 

"  She  was  a  chorus  girl  in  a  theatre.  I  was  twenty- 
two,  and  I  thought  she  was  wonderfully  clever  and  good — 
she  looked  so  good  with  her  flaxen  hair  and  wide  brown 
eyes.  The  marriage  was  secret.  Within  a  year  she  had 
run  away  with  a  millionaire  from  the  Argentine,  and 
within  another  year  she  was  dead." 

With  his  last  words  the  rigidity  of  Cora's  figure  re- 
laxed, and  in  a  voice  scarce  above  a  whisper  she  said: 
"  You  did  not  divorce  her?  " 

"  No,  somehow  I  couldn't  do  that,"  he  replied  heavily. 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  right !  "  she  rejoined.  "  For  she 
migiht  have  repented,  and " 

She  could  get  no  further,  her  body  swayed  backwards 
and  forwards  slightly,  and  her  face  dropped  into  her 
hands. 

He  moved  over  quickly  to  her,  leaned  down,  and 
looked  up  to  her  hidden  face. 

"  Cora!    Cora!  "  he  said  passionately. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  after  an  instant  her  hands 
dropped  tenderly  upon  his  head. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ENTER  THE  BRUTE 

FOR  a  time  the  world  went  well  with  those  to  whom 
the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel  was  a  home.  No  light  illumines 
a  face  like  that  which  comes  from  a  joyous  secret,  and 
Cora's  face  had  that  look  of  transfiguration  which  belongs 
to  an  exalted  spirit  or  to  a  happy  heart.  She  spiritualized 
her  love,  and  exalted  the  object,  and  all  her  work  and 
all  she  did  was  touched  with  that  grace,  that  phantom  ease 
which  belongs  to  those  whose  inner  being  is  as  active  as 
their  outer  life. 

She  stepped  with  exceeding  lightness;  her  head  was 
held  as  high  as  though  the  world  had  never  sinned ;  yet 
her  joy  did  not  make  her  selfish.  Her  interest  in  every- 
thing and  everybody  round  her  was  increased,  and  to  Mrs. 
Finley  it  seemed  that,  as  a  foster-mother,  she  had  done 
her  duty  well. 

Minden  certainly  told  her  so  with  quite  boisterous  de- 
light. There  were  times  when  he  almost  believed  he  was 
secure  in  his  converted  state  and  that  he  was  unalterably 
saved.  He  prayed  with  great  eloquence ;  he  occasionally 
preached  with  fire  and  wayward  originality.  Also  he 
did  the  work  of  mayor  with  a  cheerful  energy  which 
made  him  as  popular  as  he  was  conspicuous  because  of 
his  umbrageous  past. 

(A  two  days'  journey  north,  Sheldon  was  playing  his 
part  with  an  almost  destructive  cheerfulness, working  night 
and  day  to  make  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  which  Minden 
paid  for  a  quarter  of  the  mine  meet  current  needs.  In 
the  end  it  proved  impossible.  He  had  been  too  optimistic, 
260 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  261 

had  left  no  margin  for  accident  and  the  unforeseen;  and 
both  accident  and  the  unforeseen  occurred. 

A  breakdown  in  the  mine  destroyed  machinery;  a 
sudden  claim  by  the  original  owners  of  the  mine  proved  a 
menace  to  its  future.  He  struggled  on  under  a  load  five 
times  greater  than  even  Minden  thought  it  to  be.  Minden 
had  never  believed  that  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  would 
be  enough.  He  was  quite  prepared  to  put  in  much  more 
money  when  Sheldon  had  proved  himself  a  "  hustler  from 
Hustlerville."  He  wanted  to  test  the  capacity  of  Cora's 
future  husband,  and  the  result  was  worth  while. 

He  let  Sheldon  fight  on,  himself  looking  forward  to  the 
day  when  he  would  step  to  the  rescue  with  much  more 
money  and  say,  "  Halves,  partner,  halves !  "  That  would 
mean  in  the  long  end  that  Cora  would  be  a  partner  with 
her  own  husband  in  the  mine  about  which  the  West  was 
beginning  to  speculate  seriously. 

Everything  seemed  clear ;  there  were  no  clouds  in  the 
sky.  As  Minden  said  to  himself,  "  There  ain't  no  rails  on 
the  line."  Yet  on  one  of  the  happiest  days  he  had  ever 
known — that  on  which  his  daughter  passed  her  matricu- 
lation and  her  first  year's  examination  at  the  University 
in  one — accident  and  penalty,  twin  sisters  of  fate,  came 
storming  at  his  door. 

Even  While  he  walked  with  a  swagger  round  the  table 
in  the  dining  room  where  Cora  sat  in  half -dreaming  happi- 
ness with  the  academic  certificate  in  her  hand,  Brute 
Penalty  was  at:  work  in  Mrs.  Finley's  sitting  room. 

While  Minden  ejaculated  praises  at  the  girl,  who  had 
proved  that  her  intellect  was  as  healthy  as  her  body  and 
bloomed  like  her  cheek,  Brute  Penalty  spurted  its  venom 
into  Mrs.  Finley's  shocked  face.  It  had  burst  into  her 
room  as  she  was  rising  from  her  knees,  where  she  had 


262  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

thanked  God  for  the  gift  of  her  beloved  child.  She  had 
never  seen  a  man  intoxicated  at  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel ; 
and  it  was  a  shocking  thing  to  her  that  the  Brute  Man, 
who  now  reeled  into  her  room,  was  her  own  brother. 

She  had  to  face  a  leering,  degraded,  drunken  tramp, 
whose  grinning  humor  of  the  lips  was  denied  by  the  malice 
of  his  eyes,  the  shrewd,  malignant  look  of  the  blackmailer 
— for  that  was  what  Robert  Simeon  Struthers  suddenly 
became  on  this  day  in  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel. 

"  Lor'-a-massy !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Lor'-a-massy,  'Liza, 
what  a  joint  this  is !  Heaven  and  hell  arm  in  arm  for 
sure.  What  price  a  hotel  where  you  can't  get  a  drink  not 
for  love  or  money !  But  it's  all  right,  it's  all  right,  it's 
the  Rest  Awhile  Tavern.  That's  a  goldarned  good  name. 
I've  been  travelin'  for  the  last  twenty-one  years  an'  I'd 
like  to  rest  awhile  meself.  Jerickety,  what  a  bunch  you 
are  here !  Bill  Minden,  the  boss  train-buster,  that'd  hold 
up  a  coach  just  as  you'd  cut  the  top  off  an  egg — Bill 
Minden  doin'  the  prayer-trick,  playin'  the  sky-pilot,  runnin' 
the  town  as  mayor,  lovin'  the  ladies,  joinin'  up  with  'Liza 
Struthers  that  joined  the  church  at  ten — oh,  what  a  sur- 
prise, two  lovely  black  eyes !  " 

With  a  shocked  gesture  Mrs.  Finley  stopped  him. 
"  Robert,  Robert,  have  you  no  shame  ? "  she  almost 
wailed. 

"  No  shame !  You  talk  to  me  like  that !  What've  I 
got  to  be  ashamed  of  'cept  my  bad  luck  for  years  an' 
years  an'  years?  Everything's  been  out  agen'  me.  God 
and  the  Devil's  been  conspirin'  at  me.  I  ain't  had  no 
home.  You  been  the  lucky  one.  Steve  Finley  left  you 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  instid  of  makin'  a  home 
for  your  poor  brother  Robert,  you've  been  spending  your 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  263 

life  and  your  money  on  the  daughter  of  that  damned  thief, 
Bill  Minden." 

Mrs.  Finley  was  now  as  white  as  the  collar  at  her  neck. 
"  Oh,  hush,  brother  Robert !  "  she  said.  "  Nobody  knows 
that  she  is  William  Minden's  daughter.  You  know  how 
he  came  to  give  her  to  me,  and  no  one  knows  the  truth 
here.  She's  right  happy  with  me." 

"  You  mean  to  say  she  don't  know  who  her  real  father 
is  ?  "  A  blackmailing  look  came  into  the  brutish  eyes. 
"  Well,  then,  I  guess  I  got  a  home,"  he  added  facetiously. 
"  I  'guess  I  can  rest  awhile  at  the  '  Rest  Awhile.'  Mr. 
Bill  Minden  don't  want  the  world  to  know  that  Cora 
Finley's  his  daughter,  an'  that's  good  enough  for  me.  I 
got  to  be  took  care  of,  if  I  keep  my  mouth  shut — see 
that?  Say,  why  don't  he  want  her  to  pass  as  his 
daughter  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  "  the  agonized  woman  replied.  "  Don't 
you  know — why,  you  did  know  from  the  start,  that  he 
didn't  want  her  to  know  he  was  her  father.  H!e  didn't 
want  to  spoil  her  life." 

"  Shucks !  Piffle !  "  replied  the  other  truculently. 
"  The  town's  damned  well  goin'  to  know  she's  his  daughter. 
The  town's  goin'  to  be  purified  by  the  truth.  This  Rest 
Awhile  Tavern  is  goin'  to  be  made  a  happy,  happy  home 
if  I  know  anything,  an'  I  guess  I  do ;  but  I'll  have  a  swill 
first.  Out  with  your  bottle  from  the  cupboard,  'Liza." 

He  looked  round  the  room.  "  I  got  to  have  a  drink  an' 
a  good  big  drink,  for  I  got  a  thirst,  an'  it's  been  a  good 
big  walk  from  where  they  put  me  off  the  train.  An'  after 
the  drink  I'll  have  a  good  big  sleep  on  that  good  big  sofa 
over  there.  Gimme  that  drink,  'Liza,  on  this  instep,  as  the 
niggers  say.  I'm  dry,  and  whisky's  the  only  thing  that 
makes  my  throat  wet.  D'you  hear,  sis  ?  " 


264  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

For  an  instant  she  hesitated.  To  give  drink  to  a 
drunken  man  was  a  terrible  thing.  Yet  she  must  gain  time ; 
Cora  must  be  spared  a  shock.  She  must  see  Minden,  who 
might  perhaps  find  a  way  to  prevent  catastrophe.  She 
remembered  that  some  brandy  had  been  left  from  the 
occasion  of  Sheldon's  illness. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Robert,"  she  whispered,  for  her  voice 
failed  her  in  excitement.  "  I'll  bring  it." 

She  went  into  the  next  room,  and  presently  returned 
quickly  with  a  pitcher  of  water  and  a  bottle  in  which  there 
was  about  an  eighth  of  a  pint  of  brandy. 

Struthers  greedily  snatched  the  bottle  from  her  hand, 
uncorked  it  and  smelled  it.  Then  he  said  with  a  leer, 
"  That's  better  than  whisky— good  old  Three  Star! " 

Raising  it  to  his  lips,  he  drank  every  drop  of  it ;  then 
caught  the  pitcher  of  water  from  her  hand  and  took  a 
gulp. 

"  Now  for  the  good  big  sofa  and  a  sleep,"  he  said ; 
"and  when  I  get  up  there'll  only  <be  rest  in  the  'Rest 
Awhile'  if  I  have  a  room  to  meself  an'  me  board  an' 
lodgin'." 

Then  he  threw  himself  sprawling  on  the  sofa,  and 
closed  his  eyes  to  sleep ;  but  half  a  minute  later  they  opened 
heavily.  He  saw  his  sister  looking  at  him  with  an  agony 
in  her  face  which  made  him  laugh  in  derision. 

"  'S  all  right,  'Liza,  Get  that  room  ready  for  your 
lovin'  brother,"  he  mumbled,  and  instantly  sank  into  a 
heavy  sleep. 

Three  hours  later  the  ne'er-do-weel  awoke  from  his 
drunken  sleep  with  parched  lips  and  a  bad  temper.  As  he 
came  to  a  sitting  posture  and  blinked  his  weasel  eyes,  he 
caught  sight  of  Minden  seated  with  arms  resting  on  the 
table  in  front  of  him.  Minden's  eyes  were  fixed  on  his ; 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  265 

he  had  sat  for  a  half -hour  in  the  same  position  waiting  till 
Struthers  should  wake. 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence.  Struthers  anticipated  trouble,  and  w  .is  in  a  mood 
to  fight.  It  was  nearly  twenty  years  since  they  had  seen 
each  other,  and  both  had  lived  hard  lives,  but  Struthers's 
life  had  been  degraded,  besotted,  and  poverty-stricken. 
He  had  only  come  to  Askatoon  to  borrow  money  from  his 
sister,  but  now  his  drunken  mind  saw  'but  one  thing — the 
price  of  silence  as  to  Cora's  relationship  to  Minden.  He 
looked  to  find  threatening  in  Minden's  face,  and  was  met 
by  an  almost  friendly  smile. 

Minden  spoke  first. 

"Have  a  drink,"  he  said,  pointing1  to  a  large  glass 
pitcher  of  water  with  a  tumbler  beside  it. 

Struthers's  lips  were  parched  and  dry.  "I'll  have 
lager,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have  Milwaukee  lager — a  whole  or 
two  halves.  I'm  dry." 

"  This  is  a  temperance  hotel,"  Minden  replied  easily. 
"  Try  Adam's  ale  first,  Bob,  then  you  can  step  across  the 
street  for  your  beer." 

A  sullen,  defiant  look  came  into  Struthers's  face. 
"Temperance — shucks!  Nice  sort  of  joint  this?  Two 
holy  Christians  with  a  Christian  baby  keeping  a  decep- 
tion-house. What's  a  hotel  for  if  it  ain't  for  drink — 
good,  spiritual  drink  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  all  the  drink  you'll  get  here,  Bob,"  was 
the  dry  reply.  " '  Spiritual  drink '  is  the  word;  it  goes. 
But  there  ain't  any  spirituous  drinks  to  be  had  here ;  so  if 
you  must  have  it,  just  toddle  across  the  way.  But  if  I 
had  a  thirst  like  yours,  I'd  make  that  pitcher  of  water 
look  small  in  about  two  thirsty  seconds.  Sip  it  up,  man. 


266  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

There'll  be  room  for  the  lager  after.    What  you  want  now 
is  coolin'." 

"  I  want  money  for  the  lager,"  was  the  stubborn  reply. 
"  I'm  dead  broke ;  but  if  I  wasn't,  I'd  still  want  money 
for  the  lager.  I  ain't  here  for  nothin' — I  ain't  here  for 
nothin',  I  tell  you  that."  He  stumbled  forward  to  the 
table.  "  I'm  here  for  my  own  good — that's  why  I'm  here ; 
and  I'm  here  for  good  and  all,  and  ever,  d'you  under- 
stand?" 

The  complacent  smile  did  not  leave  Minden's  face,  yet 
there  was  a  savage  look  creeping  into  his  eyes,  which  his 
strong  will  kept  calling  back  into  obscurity. 

"All  right,  Bob,  you  can  have  the  money  for  the 
lager,"  he  replied,  "  but  I'd  like  you  to  have  a  drink  of  the 
wine  of  the  country  first  I'd  like  you  to  show  your 
friendliness  by  having  a  swig  of  Adam's  ale  out  of  that 
pitcher.  Hospitality  has  its  rules,  and  the  rule  for  a 
visitor  is  that  he's  got  to  drink  what  his  host  shoves  him." 
"  But  he  ain't  got  to  drink  what  his  landlord  shoves 
him,"  was  the  snarling  reply. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  guzzler,"  rapped  out  Minden.  "  This 
;is  my  tavern,  an'  because  'Liza  Finley  is  your  sister,  and 
because  she's  part  of  this  concern,  I'm  for  treatin'  you 
like  a  bidden  guest.  So  drink  the  water,  Bob,  then'll  come 
the  lager  later,  if  you've  got  to  have  it." 

The  half-sobered  man  was  in  a  perverse  mood.  He 
had  a  feeling  that  Minden  was  afraid  of  him.  Therefore 
he  would  turn  the  screw.  He  had  tortured  many  an 
animal  just  to  see  it  helplessly  resisting  his  malice,  and 
he  had  tortured  some  men;  but  never  had  he  had  a 
chance  to  torture  as  big  a  man-animal  as  this. 

"  You'll  give  me  what  I  want  when  I  want  it,  or  you'll 
get  what  you  'don't  want  when  you  don't  want  it,"  he 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  267 

snarled.  "You  want  nothin'  said  about  your  bein'  the 
father  of  Cora  Finley,  eh?  Well,  I  can  spoil  her  just 
for  the  price  of  one  bottle  of  lager.  I  can  take  the  pride 
out  of  the  silly,  stuck-up  daughter  of  a  thief." 

He  had  gone  too  far.  With  the  flat  of  his  hand  Minden 
struck  him  in  the  face,  and  he  fell  back  on  the  sofa  with 
a  bleeding  mouth. 

Minden's  impulse  had  been  too  swift  and  overpowering 
to  check,  and  he  had  given  away  to  it  with  every  dormant 
passion  of  life  storming  his  senses.  In  a  swift  reaction, 
however,  he  controlled  himself,  and  muttered  a  broken 
prayer,  incongruous  as  it  was. 

As  Struthers  raised  himself  again,  with  a  bleeding 
mouth,  Minden  caught  a -big  handkerchief  from  his  pocket 
and  tossed  it  over,  saying  quietly : 

"  Keep  my  girl  out  of  it,  you  swab.  P'r'aps  she  got 
out  of  your  way  as  you  passed ;  p'r'aps  she  looked  down 
on  you,  eh?  Well,  a  drunken  hog  in  his  wallow  is  apt 
to  turn  the  stomach.  Go  on,  use  that  handkerchief. 
Don't  think  because  I'm  converted  and  jined  the  church 
that  I  ain't  a  man  any  longer.  Bob  Struthers,  I'm  a  Chris- 
tian, but  I  certainly  will  have  to  kill  you  if  you  mention 
my  girl's  name  in  any  way  except  respectful.  You've 
surely  got  off  your  head.  Here,  you  drink  this  water  " — 
he  got  the  pitcher  and  glass  from  the  table — "  here,  you: 
drink  this  water,  an'  don't  try  to  bluff  me,  because  I've 
got  just  as  much  man  in  me  as  I  ever  had,  an'  there's 
a  point  where  I'm  not  going  to  check  it.  Drink,  now — 
drink,  I  tell  you !  It'll  do  you  good." 

In  their  boyhood  days  Minden  had  always  been  the 
master,  and  Struthers  had  knuckled  down  to  him.  His 
tractability,  however,  had  ever  ibeen  measured  by  the 
physical  punishment  he  received. 


268  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  That  swat  in  the  gob  was  like  old  times,  wasn't  it?  " 
continued  Minden  with  the  smile  which  had  been  on  his 
face  when  Struthers  waked. 

"  Christian !  You !  "  responded  the  now  quite  sobered 
man.  "  Christian !  You've  got  as  much  devil  in  you  as 
you  allus  had.  It's  bred  in  the  bone — the  rest's  only 
make-believe.  Your  grandfather  was  a  local  preacher, 
an'  the  strain  of  it's  in  you;  but  it's  only  your  grand- 
father haunting  you;  it  ain't  real.  Shucks!  You  ain't 
goin'  to  stick  it  out.  You'll  go  back  to  the  old  game  all 
right.  Why,  I  might  as  well  try  to  drink  that  swash 
every  day," — he  pointed  to  the  almost  empty  pitcher  of 
water — "  instead  of  whisky  or  lager.  I  keep  goin'  back 
to  it,  an'  you'll  go  back.  Talk  about  bein'  saved,  when 
every  day  you  live's  a  lie!  You're  only  figurin'  to  be 
good,  'cause  you  want  your  daughter  to  think  a  lot  of  you. 
Can't  I  see !  I  didn't  know  you  when  you  was  ten  years 
old  for  nothin',  you  non-such." 

Minden  was  now  back  again  in  his  chair  at  the  table, 
master  of  himself,  with  a  friendly  look  in  his  face,  and 
his  mind  well  controlled. 

"  I  guess  there's  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  Robert 
Simeon  Struthers,"  he  conceded.  "  I  may  backslide ;  but 
all  the  more  reason  I  shouldn't  let  my  girl  know  who 
I  am.  I've  been  runnin'  straight  quite  a  while,  and  I've 
had  a  lot  of  comfort  out  of  gettin'  religion.  I  haven't 
wanted  to  do  what  I  used  to  do.  I  been  happy  and  re- 
spected, I  been  of  use — yes,  I  been  of  use.  I  /been  workin' 
for  other  people,  doin'  somethin'  for  them,  and " 

Struthers  was  a  mongrel  cur  naturally,  and  his  evil  life 
had  made  him  a  ruthless  brute.  If  anybody  could  handle 
him  it  was  Minden,  who  had  lorded  it  over  him  in  days 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  269 

long  gone,  but  in  his  weasel  eyes  now  the  Brute  was  alive, 
the  under-world,  the  jungle  thing. 

"  Well,  you  can  do  something  for  me  if  you're  out  for 
doing  good,"  he  said.  "  I  ain't  had  any  luck  any  time. 
Nothing  I  ever  done  come  out  right.  The  world  owed  me 
a  living,  an'  hasn't  ever  paid  it.  So,  you  got  to  pay  it 
now.  You've  got  a  lot  of  money  that  don't  belong  to 
you ;  an'  I  got  a  hold  on  you.  I  got  a  loose  tongue ;  an' 
I  can't  control  it  without  a  gold  bridle  an'  bit.  I  got 
to  be  paid." 

Minden  nodded  contemptuously.  "Yes,  I  know  all 
that,  man  alive.  You're  a  dirty  dog,  of  course — you  always 
was.  I  used  to  thrash  you,  way  back,  -but  I  oughtef  have 
killed  you.  Well,  I've  swatted  your  mouth  to-day,  an' 
I  don't  mind  paying  you  now  to  keep  your  filthy  mouth 
shut.  What's  your  price,  skunk  ?  " 

Struthers  was  taken  aback.  He  had  thought  there 
would  be  storm  and  trouble,  but  that  in  the  end  Minden 
would  see  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  grunt  and 
pay. 

He  made  his  shot  at  once,  however.  "  What  I  want 
— what  I  want — is  a  home;  bed  and  board,  an'  enough 
cash  to  get  my  drink  across  the  street,  if  I  can't  have  it 
here.  'Liza  Finley's  my  sister.  She's  in  clover,  an'  she 
ought  to  let  me  be  in  grass." 

"Get  down  to  business,"  said  Minden,  sharply  now. 
"  You  want  your  'bed,  your  board,  and  some  cash.  How 
much  cash  do  you  think  would  buy  your  beer?  " 

"  I  want  five  dollars  a1  week  and  bed  and  board — 
that's  my  offer." 

Minden  shook  his  head.  "  You  couldn't  live  here.  This 
is  a  temperance  tavern  run  on  Christian  lines,  an'  you'd 
go  on  gettin'  drunk.  I'm  not  proposin'  to  keep  you  here, 


270  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

though  it'd  be  cheaper.  You  could  have  the  money  to 
board  and  lodge  somewhere  else,  an'  you  could  have  the 
five  dollars  a  week,  but  you'd  have  to  keep  out  of  this  place 
when  you  was  drunk.  I'd  like  to  put  it  to  you,  though, 
whether  you  could  settle  in  Askatoon  an'  be  satisfied? 
You've  been  travelin'  a  long  time — d'you  think  the  one 
long  street  of  this  place  is  enough  for  you?  There's  a 
heap  of  prejudice  in  this  town.  What  would  you  think 
of  goin'  somewhere  else  ?  Did  you  never  think  you'd  like 
to  try  Australia?  There's  a  lot  of  toughs  like  you  over 
there." 

The  weasel  eyes  almost  closed  with  avarice,  but  they 
caught  sight  of  Minden's  face,  and  the  light  in  them 
flickered.  This  Bill  Minden  was  different  from  the  Bill 
Minden  he  used  to  know ;  this  Bill  Minden  appeared  to 
have  a  further  reach.  There  was  something  uncanny  about 
him,  in  spite  of  his  smile ;  something  that  made  Struthers 
afraid.  His  head  twitched ;  it  was  as  though  something 
had  got  hold  of  his  nerves. 

"  Travelin'  costs  money,"  he  stammered.  "  You  want 
to  get  rid  of  me;  you  don't  want  me  here,  where  you're 
mayor,  and  so  you  begin  to " 

"Of  course  I  don't  want  you  here.  I  never  could  tell 
what  you  mightn't  do  when  you  got  drunk.  Then,  if  you 
split,  I  might  forget  I  was  saved,  an'  kill  you.  That's 
why  I'd  like  to  see  you  hunch  away  to  Australia,  They 
drink  kerosene  in  the  back-blocks  there,  'stead  of  whisky. 
You've  got  strange  tastes,  an'  that'd  suit  you.  What  do 
you  think  you'd  take  an'  go?  There's  a  boat  leaving 
Vancouver  day  after  to-morrow.  I'll  fetch  you  over  to 
Vancouver  by  train.  I'll  see  you  off." 

The  cunning  eyes  widened  a  little  now.    "  How  much 


ENTER  THE  BRUTE  271 

are  you1  givin'  me  for  that,  if  I  go  ?  I  got  a  lot  of  rheuma- 
tism these  days ;  I  can't  work  like  I  used  to." 

Minden  waved  a  hand  in  scorn.  "  Work !  You  never 
done  any  work  at  all.  Somebody  else  always  worked  for 
you — chiefly  women.  That's  all  the  more  reason  why 
you  should  get  out  among  the  aborigines  an'  live  in  a 
black-fellows'  camp.  You  could  live  a  long  time  on  what 
I'm  going  to  give  you.  Does  three  thousand  dollars  an' 
your  passage-money  look  all  right  to  you  ?  " 

The  weasel  eyes  opened  wider  in  spite  of  themselves. 
The  vision  of  innumerable  bottles  of  lager  beer  and  many 
a  drunken  and  lascivious  day  passed  before  the  vision 
of  the  beast. 

He  got  to  his  feet.  "  I  guess  I  could  about  do  it  for 
that,"  he  conceded. 

"  Well,  as  you  can  do  it  for  that,"  responded  Minden, 
"  then  you'll  see  how  fair  I  am  when  I  tell  you  that  I'm 
goin'  to  give  you  three  thousand  dollars  an'  your  passage- 
money." 

"  You  can  afford  it,"  returned  the  other,  with  sudden 
swagger  in  his  bearing.  "  I'll  tell  you  in  a  week  or  so 
what  I'll  do.  I  want  to  rest  awhile  first." 

Minden's  voice  hardened.  "  I  guess  not.  I  can  afford: 
it  this  week,  but  I  mightn't  be  able  to  afford  it  in  a  week 
or  so,"  was  the  dry  answer. 

"  You're  goin'  to  leave  here  to-night  at  eleven  o'clock, 
by  the  through  express,"  he  continued,  "an'  I'm  goin' 
with  you.  On  the  steamer  Mopoke  I'll  hand  you  the 
cash." 

"  I  got  to  have  some  beer  right  away,"  answered  the 
other  in  acquiescence,  "  an'  I'm  hungry,  too." 

Minden  barred  his  way  to  the  door.  "  You  can't  have 
a  drop  of  beer  in  this  house,  an'  you've  gat  to  stay  here 


272  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

till  the  train  starts.  You've  got  to  do  without  your  beer 
till  eleven  o'clock;  then  you  can  have  a  full  bottle  on 
the  train.  If  what  I  propose  ain't  worth  while  you  can 
light  out  now,  an'  you'll  get  nothin' ;  an'  then  if  I  happen 
to  forget  myself,  I'll  spoil  you.  If  you  hurt  my  girl  I'd 
find  you — religion  or  no  religion — I'd  find  you  if  you  was 
in  Patagonia.  Which  are  you  taking  on — to  do  without 
your  beer,  or  to  have  the  other?  Put  it  up  to  me  now 
or  never." 

With  a  muttered  oath  Struthers  turned  to  the  table, 
and  seized  a  water-bottle. 

"  Gimme  spmethin'  to  eat,"  he  said,. 


CHAPTER  IX 
NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY 

BRIBERY  answering  blackmail  is  not  the  highest  form 
of  diplomacy,  but  it  was  successful  in  the  case  of  Robert 
Simeon  Struthers,  who  sailed  from  Vancouver  on  the  last 
sea- voyage  he  would  make.  Minden  had  some  heart- 
searching  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  course  he  had  taken, 
(but  anything  likely  to  injure  his  daughter  caused  him  to 
harden  his  heart.  To  make  her  happy  was  an  obsession. 
That  was  why  he  focused  his  interest  upon  the  Sink-or- 
Swim  mine.  Through  it  she  could  be  provided  with  an 
"elegant"  husband  and  a  fortune  also.  He  believed  in 
the  mine  now  even  more  fanatically  than  Sheldon. 

So  it  was  that,  when  Sheldon  came  to  him  in  great 
•anxiety,  because  of  injury  to  the  mine  by  fire  and  the 
breakdown  of  machinery,  also  in  regard  to  costs  of  the 
lawsuit  which,  though  he  had  won,  were  heavy,  Minden 
met  him  with  a  cheerful  eye. 

"  How  much  do  you  want?  "  Minden  asked  him,  going 
straight  to  the  heart  of  the  business. 

Sheldon  hesitated  a  moment,  then  he  said,  "  I  don't  like 
telling  you,  it  seems  such  a  big  sum.  The  breakdown  and 
the  fire  and  the  law  costs  will  eat  up  ten  thousand  dollars, 
but " 

He  paused.  There  was  something  on  his  mind,  and  he 
hesitated  to  say  it. 

Minden  came  to  his  rescue.  "Well;,  what  is  it, 
youngster?  Got  brain-congestion?  Out  with  it!  Don't 
mind  me." 

The  young  man  pulled  himself  together  and  returned 
18  273 


274  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

Minden's  look  firmly.  "Of  course,  I  ought  to  speak  out 
frankly  to  you,  a  partner,  but  I  feel  you're  risking  so 
much  on  my " 

"  I'm  risking  nothin'  at  all,"  interjected  Minden  with 
a  chuckle.  "  I  know  what  I'm  doin'.  If  there's  one 
dollar  in  that  mine  there's  millions,  and  I  saw  from  h  . 
start  you'd  got  to  have  more  money.  There's  nothi^  in 
workin'  a  big  mine  penuriously.  On  your  present  plan 
there's  a  good  livin',  an'  there's  twenty  per  cent,  or  more 
on  capital ;  but  another  forty  thousand  put  into  machinery, 
development,  an'  hands'd  make  the  profits  three  huncred 
per  cent.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  You  want 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  breakdown  and  the  law  costs. 
Settled ;  you've  got  it.  Then  there's  forty  thousand  dollars 
that's  wanted  for  development  before  we  float  the  com- 
pany for  five  million  dollars.  Settled;  you've  got  it — 
anyhow,  you'll  have  it  in  three  days." 

Sheldon  was  staggered.  When  he  could  get  his  breath 
he  said :  "  It  doesn't  seem  possible  you  mean  it — but 
yes,  of  course,  you  do.  You're  not  loaning  all  this  money 
to  the  mine  without  a  mortgage  on  my  share  ?  " 

"  No  mortgage,  if  I  know  it.  I  want  another  quarter 
of  the  mine;  .then  you  and  I'll  be  goin'  halves,  and  I'll 
think  I  got  it  cheap  enough." 

Sheldon's  face  lighted.  "  I'm  glad  you  said  that,"  he 
replied.  "  By  rights  you  ought  to  have  three-quarters  of 
the  mine,  because  I  mightn't  have  had  anything  out  of 
it,  if  it  wasn't  for  you.  I'm  as  glad  as  can  be." 

Minden  nodded.  "  So  am  I.  But  I  am  saying  this, 
too,  son,  that  as  soon  as  this  matter  is  fixed,  you're  goin' 
to  have  ten  thousand  a  year  for  managing  the  biz." 

Sheldon  made  a  protesting  gesture.  "  Oh,  I  don't  mind 
that  for  the  present !  When  I'm  married,  though,  I'll  want 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  275 

more  cash.  It  doesn't  cost  me  much  to  live  now,  but 
then  I'll  want  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  it  doesn't  cost  you  much  to  live  now,"  remarked 
Minden.  "  As  near  as  I  can  figure,  you  spend  'bout  as 
much  as  one  of  your  workmen;  but  you've  got  to  have 
t  J>-  ething  like  what  you're  worth  when  you  get  married. 
To  :  ny  thinkin'  you'll  have  fifty  times  what  you're  worth 
when  you're  married,  Mr.  Sheldon,"  he  added,  meaningly. 

A  warm,  happy  look  crossed  over  Sheldon's  face. 
"  Yes ;  she's  worth  fifty  times  what  I  am,  Mr.  Minden," 
he  replied. 

"  You  don't  think  you'll  ever  repent  marrying  a  girl 
like  her,  seein'  what  you've  come  from  ?  "  Minden  asked, 
his  eyes  searching  Sheldon's  face  closely. 

Sheldon  laughed  happily.  "  She's  a  lady,  isn't  she  ? 
Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  her  manners?  When 
the  governor's  wife  passed  through,  did  you  see  any 
difference  'twixt  her  and  her  excellency?" 

Minden  chuckled.  "  Coin'  just  as  easy  with  her  ex- 
cellency as  with  me,"  he  answered — "talkin'  as  if  they 
was  sisters." 

"Well,  that's  being  a  lady,"  answered  Sheldon  de- 
cisively. "  What  more  do  you  want  ?  I've  seen  a  shoemaker 
as  well  bred  as  any  royalty." 

"You  wouldn't  want  to  give  her  up,  then?"  asked 
Minden,  lightly,  but  with  an  inquisitorial  look. 

"That's  what  I'm  always  afraid  of,"  answered 
Sheldon.  "  I  don't  want  to  give  her  up,  but  I  might  have 
to,  if  she  took  a  fancy  to  someone  else." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  marry  her  at  once  ?  "  queried 
the  other. 

"  Because  I  want  the  mine  to  be  steadied  down  to  its 


276  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

work  and  going  strong,  so  that  she  won't  see  any  trouble 
in  my  face  as  there  was  in  it  to-day." 

Now  Minden  smiled.  "  That's  right,  son,  that's  right ; 
you've  got  the  hang  of  the  thing.  You  be  good  to  her 
always  like  that.  I  guess  you  can  get  your  marriage 
licence  out.  With  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  I'm  going 
to  pay  for  another  quarter  share,  you  can  bet  that  mine'll 
run  with  greased  wheels — like  a  snake  down  a  hole." 

"  Well,  I  think  you're  right,"  answered  Sheldon. 

"  Then  go  and  see  the  lady  and  fix  the  day,"  urged 
Minden,  "  for  you  never  can  tell  what '11  happen.  Better 
take  things  when  the  fit's  on.  I've  got  a  fit  on  for  the 
Sink-or-Swim,  and  you've  got  a  fit  on  for  the  finest  girl 
ever  was;  then  let's  act  while  it's  on — while  it's  on." 

They  shook  hands  with  a  great  swing  and  parted. 
Minden  looked  after  the  athletic  figure  with  pride  in  his 
eyes.  "  There's  a  lot  in  good  blood,"  he  said.  "  You  can 
breed  men  same  as  you  breed  animals." 

As  Minden,  in  the  mayor's  office  at  the  City  Hall, 
stood  ruminating  on  the  going  of  Sheldon  upon  a  mission 
which  brought  back  vividly  the  boisterous  joy  of  his  own 
courtship  twenty-five  years  before,  a  misshapen  figure  in 
the  open  doorway  of  the  room  disturbed  his  vision. 

"  Well,  Kernaghan,  what  brings  you  here  ?  Isn't  the 
check  all  right  ?  "  he  said,  remarking  the  green-looking 
paper  in  Patsy  Kernaghan's  hand.  He  saw  it  was  a  check 
he  had  given  Kernaghan  the  day  before  for  some  casual 
work. 

"  Aw,  Mr.  Mayor,  sir,"  answered  Kernaghan  sadly, 
"  I  took  this  check  to  the  bank,  an'  they  sez  to  me  this 
morning,  '  Put  your  name  on  the  back  of  it,'  they  sez. 
'  I'm  not  paid  for  doing  that,'  sez  I.  '  Well,  you'll  get  no 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  277 

money  unless  you  do,'  sez  they  to  me.  An'  there  I  stood 
in  the  arly  marnin'  with  my  strength  not  come  full,  writin' 
me  name  on  the  back  of  a  check.  Then  what  d'ye  think 
happened?  I  was  just  passin'  it  in,  an'  they  was  countin' 
out  the  money  behind  the  bars  of  the  cage,  where  they  kep 
it,  when  in  comes  the  Young  Doctor,  and  what  d'ye  think 
he  said  ?  He  wasn't  lookin'  very  well.  Shure,  he  always 
had  a  kind  word  for  me  no  matter  what  time  o'  day  it  was, 
but  in  he  come  an'  just  nods  to  me.  Then  he  goes  to  the 
counter.  '  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Bristow/  he  sez — that's  the 
manager,  you  know.  Just  then  Mr.  Bristow  comes  into 
the  cage  behin'  the  bars.  '  Good  marnin','  he  sez  to  the 
Young  Doctor.  '  Good  marnin',  Bristow,'  sez  he.  '  Here's 
a  pretty  bad  business,'  sez  he.  '  What's  that  ? '  sez  Mr. 
Bristow  with  a  sharp  look.  '  Prince's  Bank  is  gone,'  sez 
the  Young  Doctor.  '  It  closed  its  doors  this  marnin'. 
I  have  a  telegram.  Ten  cents  on  the  dollar,  I  s'pose,' 
sez  he ;  an'  I  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  it.' " 

At  the  name  of  the  bank,  Minden's  face  paled,  and  a 
sort  of  film  came  over  his  eyes.  His  hand  had  been  in 
his  beard  as  he  listened  to  Patsy  Kernaghan  talk,  and  at 
the  mention  of  the  bank  catastrophe  the  fingers  clutched 
the  beard  so  that  his  lower  lip  was  dragged  into  an  in- 
voluntary grimace  of  torture.  That  was  all.  He  stood 
rigid  and  dazed  for  a  moment. 

"  Prince's  Bank !  Prince's  Bank — are  you  sure  that's 
what  the  Young  Doctor  said  ?  "  he  asked  huskily. 

"  Aw,  it's  Prince's  Bank  in  Winnipeg,  all  right,"  an- 
swered Kernaghan.  "  There's  no  mistake  about  that.  It's 
the  same  that's  on  this  check  you  give  me  yisterday.  Am 
I  to  be  losin'  it,  Mr.  Minden?  Is  it  that  I'm  not  to  have 
me  monney  because  the  bank's  broke  ?  " 

Minden  reached  out  and  took  the  check. 


278  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"  Of  course  whin  the  Young  Doctor  spoke  up  like  that 
to  that  man  in  the  cage,"  continued  Kernaghan,  "they 
grabbed  the  monney  they  was  paying  out  to  me,  an'  put 
it  back  in  the  till.  So  what  was  I  to  do  but  bring  that 
back  to  you?" 

Without  a  word  Minden  took  from  his  pocket  a  hand- 
ful of  bills.  Counting  a  number  of  them  he  handed  them 
over  to  Kernaghan.  Patsy  took  them  eagerly;  but  seeing 
the  strange  troubled  look  in  Minden's  face,  he  said : 

"  Would  it  be  hurtin'  you,  Mr.  Minden,  the  breakin' 
of  that  bank?  Had  they  army  of  your  monney ?  Shure, 
the  Young  Doctor's  losin'  five  thousand  dollars — you  didn't 
have  that  much  in  the  bank,  did  ye  ?  " 

"  Five  thousand  dollars — five  thousand  dollars — well, 
yes,  I  had  that  much,"  replied  Minden  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Get  out,  Patsy,  I  got  some  business  to  do." 

Patsy  made  for  the  door,  but  suddenly  came  back. 
"  I  don't  think  I'll  take  the  monney,  Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  not  be  needin'  it.  Shure,  I've  got  plenty  somewhere." 

Minden  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  him 
round.  "  Be  off  with  you,"  he  said.  "  D'ye  think  that'd 
save  me  if  I  was  in  trouble  ?  " 

Patsy  pocketed  the  money.  "  Aw  well,"  he  remarked, 
without  any  ulterior  thought,  "  aw  well,  if  you've  lost  a 
lot  of  monney,  shure  you  always  know  where  to  get  more, 
as  you  got  what  you  lost." 

Some  time  afterwards,  seated  in  his  chair  at  the 
mayoral  desk,  Minden  raised  his  head  from  a  long  reverie, 
and  repeated  Patsy  Kernaghan's  words :  "  Shure,  you 
always  know  where  to  get  more,  as  you  got  what  you  lost." 

If  Prince's  Bank  was  bankrupt,  then  he  was,  in  the 
language  of  the  West,  stony-broke,  for  very  lately  he  had 
removed  from  his  bank  at  Montreal  nearly  all  the  money 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  279 

he  had  to  Prince's  Bank  at  Winnipeg.  Ten  cents  in  the 
dollar !  What  would  that  mean  to  him  now?  That  which 
was  to  be  a  fortune  for  his  girl  and  Sheldon,  where  would 
it  be?  If  Prince's  Bank  was  gone,  then  his  girl's  future 
was  in  danger.  There  was  the  hotel,  of  course,  but  that, 
on  a  sudden  sale,  would  never  bring  what  he  paid  for  it ; 
for  the  success  of  the  Rest  Awhile  Temperance  Hotel  was 
due  to  his  own  notorious  personality,  and  right  well  the 
public  knew  'that.  If  what  Patsy  Kernaghan  had  said 
was  true,  all  he  had  left  was  the  hotel,  and  the  mine  would 
be  gone  and  the  fortune  it  promised. 

A  stupefying  gloom  settled  upon  him,  until  Patsy 
Kernaghan's  words  came  to  his  mind — "  You  always  know 
where  to  get  more,  as  you  got  what  you  lost."  How  had 
he  got  what  he  lost?  By  the  robbery  of  trains,  by  break- 
ing the  law,  by  the  highwayman's  methods;  by  the  life 
which  he  had  put  forever  behind.  Yet  here  it  was  staring 
him  in  the  face  with  its  dreadful  allurement  and  the  drag 
of  ancient  habit,  the  perilous  joy  of  criminal  enterprise. 

With  a  strange,  apprehensive,  yet  furtive  look  in  his 
face,  on  which  a  light  was  playing  such  as  plays  through 
a  crevice  upon  the  grim  architecture  of  a  cave,  he  left  the 
City  Hall  and  went  into  the  street.  There  he  met  the 
Young  Doctor,  who  had  evidently  regained  his  composure. 

"You've  heard  what's  happened  about  Prince's 
Bank?  "  the  Young  Doctor  questioned. 

"  I've  -heard,'*  Minden  answered  calmly. 

"  I  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  it,  and  I  suppose  it's 
all  gone,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor.  "  It  took  a  lot 
of  making,  that  five  thousand.  I  hope  you  haven't  lost 
much." 

"  Not  so  much  that  I  can't  replace  it,"  answered  Minden 
with  a  strange  smile,  and  passed  on. 


280  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

The  Young  Doctor's  eyes  followed  him.  "  I  don't  like 
the  look  of  his  face,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  seems  to 
hide  a  lot  and  yet  it  betrays  a  lot.  I  suppose  he  hadn't  all 
his  eggs  in  one  basket,  anyhow." 

Minden's  face,  as  the  Young  Doctor  had  seen  it,  was 
the  mirror  of  his  mind.  Everything  was  in  disorder  there. 
All  his  plans  and  hopes  were  overturned ;  a  blow  had  fallen 
which  splintered  into  fragments  the  edifice  so  carefully 
builded  during  the  past  months. 

He  had  thought  himself  saved  by  the  sacrifice  of  Cal- 
vary, and  since  his  conversion  it  had  not  seemed  too  hard, 
his  emotions  being  what  they  were,  to  steer  the  narrow 
way;  but  all  at  once,  in  the  presence  of  his  ruined  hopes, 
he  saw  by  the  flames  which  burned  up  his  designs  the 
Bill  Minden  of  old  beckoning  him  back  to  the  dark  trail 
of  the  past. 

The  night  of  the  day  when  he  learned  of  the  ruin  of 
Prince's  Bank  he  walked  the  prairie  with  a  smoldering 
fire  in  his  brain,  with  a  sullen  remorse  and  despair  coursing 
through  his  being.  He  had  thought  he  was  "  saved  by  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb,"  but  in  the  black  passions  possessing 
him  now,  he  knew  that  he  had  only,  as  he  said  to  himself, 
"  felt  good,"  not  been  good.  He  realized  now  he  was  not 
good  in  the  sen^e  that  the  class-leaders  in  the  meeting- 
house understood  it.  In  his  agitated  courses  on  that  night 
of  destiny  he  passed  the  meeting-house.  The  prayer- 
meeting  was  ending,  and  the  prayer-people,  as  he  had 
called  them,  were  singing  a  hymn  to  close  their  exercises : 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood 

Drawn  from  human-net's  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  Hood 
,        Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  281 

He  could  detect  among  the  singers  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Finley.  He  knew  that  rapt,  rather  piercing,  falsetto  tone 
which  had  in  it  the  loving  passion  of  the  fanatic.  He 
knew  now  that  his  own  guilty  stains  had  never  been  washed 
away;  that  he  was  still  Bill  Minden,  who  had  defeated 
the  law  and  been  defeated  by  the  law. 

He  had  an  impulse  to  enter  the  meeting-house  and, 
standing  up  before  these  real  Christians,  blurt  out  his 
repudiation  of  all  he  had  said  and  done  in  the  name  of 
religion  and  of  all  religion  had  done  for  him — as  everyone 
and  he  himself  had  thought. 

It  was  as  though  the  man  he  was  of  old  was  whisper- 
ing in  his  ear.  He  had  the  most  curious  illusion  that  he 
was  standing  outside  himself ;  as  though,  indeed,  he  had  an 
astral  body,  and  that  the  Bill  Minden  who  had  been  noto- 
rious on  a  continent  was  telling  the  Bill  Minden  who  ruled 
the  town  of  Askatoon,  and  kept  a  khan  for  the  wayfarer, 
that  he  had  for  months  'been  in  a  trance,  and  was  the 
victim  of  an  aberration. 

As  he  passed  on,  the  singing  growing  fainter,  two  hands 
seemed  knocking  at  the  door  of  his  mind. 

One  was  that  of  the  little  misshapen)  Celt,  Patsy 
Kernaghan,  who  had  said :  "  If  you've  lost  a  lot  of  money, 
shure  you  always  know  where  to  get  more,  as  you  got 
what  you  lost." 

The  other  hand  was  that  of  a  man  in  Vancouver — Jim 
Starboard,  a  criminal  friend  of  old  days — who  had  written 
a  few  days  before,  telling  him  of  a  train  that  would  be 
carrying  a  half-million  dollars  from  the  next  steamer  from 
Japan.  Starboard  had  suggested  that  they  should  hold 
it  up  at  a  station  where  it  was  due  at  midnight.  The 
passengers  would  be  asleep,  the  express-van  would  only 
be  guarded  by  two  men,  and  the  game  would  be  worth  the 


282  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

risk.  Jim  Starboard  had,  in  his  day,  been  almost  as  expert 
as  Bill  Minden,  and  had  been  even  luckier  in  escaping  the 
penalties  of  his  crimes. 

Now,  as  Minden  paced  the  prairie,  all  that  Starboard 
had  written  kept  besieging  his  brain.  At  first  there  was 
only  confusion.  He  was  tossed  between  the  waters  of  the 
harbor  and  the  sea.  He  had  been  in  harbor  for  more  than 
an  eloquent  and  peaceful  year ;  but  now  the  sea  of  ancient 
habit  fell  upon  the  breakwaters  which  his  resolutions  had 
erected,  and  at  last  it  swept  them  away. 

Beyond  everything  else  he  had  wished  to  see  Sheldon 
and  his  daughter  married,  and  to  feel  that  the  girl  owed 
to  him  her  fortune — some  compensation  for  his  being  her 
father.  For  Sheldon  to  lose  all  now,  for  his  girl  not  to 
have  what  he  had  planned  for  her — the  inevitable,  the 
indispensable  thing — was  a  torture  to  his  storm-tossed 
brain.  As  the  night  wore  on,  he  heard  a  voice  from  Van- 
couver forever  saying  to  him:  "There's  a  way,  there's 
a  way ! " 

Yet,  with  it  all,  something  that  had  come  to  him  out  of 
his  new  life  kept  holding  him,  as  a  child  lightly  holds  the 
hand  of  one  it  trusts.  In  sudden  emotion  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  in  the  stubble  and  prayed.  He  did  not  know  what 
he  said.  It  was  a  cry  of  the  agonized,  unstable  nature, 
of  one  who  in  natural  bent  towards  wickedness  was  strong 
•with  the  selfishness  of  the  materialist;  but  in  his  inner 
spiritual  being  was  the  victim  of  the  emotions  of  a  charac- 
ter irresponsible  and  wayward,  if  kind  and  generous. 

His  strivings  were  of  no  avail.  Nothing  came  to  help 
him ;  there  was  no  response  to  his  call.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  only  appealed  to  the  Power  beyond  because  he  could 
say,  when  another  crime  would  be  added  to  his  record, 
that  he  had  prayed  for  grace  to  resist,  and  it  had  failed 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  283 

him.  Who  can  tell?  Such  dual  personalities  have  their 
own  tragedies.  Grimly  he  rose  from  his  knees  as  dawn 
touched  the  hills.  He  saw  the  faint  glimmer  of  saffron, 
then  turned  his  back  upon  the  eastern  sky  and  faced  the 
mountains  in  the  West — faced  the  mountains,  and  Van- 
couver, and  temptation,  and  the  old  bad  ways. 

A  few  hours  later  he  sent  a  telegram  in  language  which 
only  Jim  Starboard  could  understand.  It  was  not  ad- 
dressed in  Starboard's  own  name.  A  few  hours  later 
still  he  sent  a  letter  addressed  to  Starboard  to  a  hotel  at 
a  railway  station  about  eighty  miles  west.  When  he  made 
up  his  mind  he  always  acted  with  decision. 

In  Askatoon  things  moved  slowly  on.  A  few  people 
had  been  hurt  by  the  failure  of  the  bank,  and  no  one  had 
the  faintest  idea  of  how  much  it  had  meant  to  Minden. 
[He  went  his  way  as  usual,  and  only  two  people  in  the 
place  suspected  that  something  was  disturbing  Minden'cs 
mind.  Only  the  Young  Doctor  saw  some  subtle  change 
in  him,  something  that  lay  secluded  in  the  depth  of  his 
eyes ;  while  Cora  Finley,  seeing  his  face  pale,  attributed  it 
to  some  slight  illness  which  table  delicacies  could  cure. 

Minden  had  promised  Sheldon  that  he  would  give  him 
a  dieck  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  within  three  days.  On 
the  morning  of  the  third  day  he  handed  it  to  him,  saying : 
"  Good  luck  to  us,  and  don't  waste  it !  It's  cost  a  lot." 

After  Sheldon  left  his  office  to  deposit  the  check  in  the 
bank,  Minden  sat  long  at  his  table  in  a  kind  of  dream. 
At  length  something  like  a  smile  came  upon  his  face ;  the 
trouble  which  had  hovered  over  it  for  days  passed  away, 
and  he  said  aloud : 

"  That's  settled  it !    He's  got  the  check,  and  he's  got 
to  have  the  money.   I  can't  go  back  on  that." 


284  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

It  would  take  several  days  for  the  check  to  go  to  the 
bank  on  which  it  was  drawn  at  Montreal,  and  the  money 
would  be  there  if  all  went  well. 

In  the  dead  of  night  a  stranger  visited  Minden  in  his 
office,  coming  by  the  back  garden,  as  Sheldon  had  come. 
After  a  long  interview  the  stranger's  last  words  were : 

"  Yes,  I've  got  it  clear.  Listen  and  see  if  I  have.  The 
Syndicate  is  to  place  at  once,  through  half  a  dozen  sources, 
fifty-five  thousand  dollars  to  your  credit  in  the  Laurentian 
Bank  of  Montreal.  As  mayor  you've  got  to  pay  a  visit  to 
Forthright  in  the  mountains  and  attend  a  banquet  there — 
that  fits  in  good  and  sweet.  You're  to  take  the  eleven 
o'clock  express  back  to  Askatoon,  and  at  Goldmark  Station 
you're  to  leave  it,  without  being  seen  except  by  our  pal  the 
conductor,  that's  in  with  us.  You're  to  wait  there  for  the 
train  for  the  East.  At  Goldmark  the  job's  to  be  done  by 
you  and  me.  All  you  want  is  the  fifty-five  thousand; 
and  I'll  take  all  I  can  for  the  Syndicate.  Then  you're  to 
get  back  to  Askatoon  in  your  own  way  afterwards,  and 
I'm  to  make  tracks  my  own  way.  Have  I  got  it?  Is  it 
right?" 

Minden  nodded.  "  You've  got  it,  Jim.  Settled." 

"  I  knew  you'd  come  back  to  us,  Bill,"  the  other  said. 
"  You  was  the  greatest  war-boss  that  ever  faced  the  guns. 
We  can  all  take  off  our  hats  to  you.  That  was  a  great 
game  of  yours  playing  *  saved '  and  preachin'  here  at 
Askatoon,  and  gettin'  to  be  mayor  and  all  that ;  but  I  don't 
see  what  you  was  driving  at.  You've  done  it  in  style, 
but  I  don't  git  it." 

"  You  don't  have  to  git  it,"  was  Minden's  reply.  "  You 
couldn't  if  you  tried." 

The  other  prepared  to  go,  and  opened  the  door.    The 


NATURE  HAS  HER  SAY  285 

room  was  as  dark  as  the  night,  and  he  could  not  be  seen 
from  outside.  "  Well,  good-bye,  old  Bill,"  he  said.  "  This 
ain't  the  first  time  we  been  in  harness  together,  an'  it  won't 
be  the  last  neether." 

They  shook  hands,  Jim  Starboard  disappeared,  and  the 
door  closed.  For  a  moment  Minden  stood  silent  in  the 
darkness,  then  he  said : 

"  You're  wrong.  It  is  the  last  time,  Jim,  I've  got 
sense  enough  to  know  that.  It's  the  last,  last  time  of  all. 
If  it  comes  off,  I'm  gone  away,  east  or  west ;  if  it  doesn't 
come  off — no,  it's  got  to  come  off !  I'm  risking  it  for  her, 
an'  I  know  I'm  risking  her,  too ;  but  it's  too  late  to  turn 
back.  I've  got  to  go  on  with  it  now.  It's  the  last,  last 
time,  though,  so  help  me  God !  " 


CHAPTER  X 
SOMEONE  MUST  PAY 

IT  seemed  as  though  the  foothills  were  in  rebellion 
against  the  mountains,  and  that  hundreds  of  ruined  regi- 
ments were  breaking  in  blind  disorder  upon  the  plains. 
Never,  perhaps,  had  the  long  escarpment  of  the  Rockies 
known  such  a  storm,  or  the  plains  been  swept  by  a  wilder 
flood.  Like  some  red  native  of  the  northern  wilds  who 
mutilates  himself  in  frenzy  to  show  how  much  the  human 
frame  can  bear,  so  on  this  night  Nature,  the  benign  mother, 
ravaged  her  own  bosom,  tore  out  her  own  eyes,  shrieked 
the  agony  of  her  own  making — abandoned,  merciless,  a 
cynical,  sinister  hag.  It  seemed  as  though  she  made  this 
massive  turmoil  to  shelter  in  her  cloak  of  storm  one  reck- 
less man  who,  having  shamefully  sinned  and  repented  of 
'his  sin,  was  again  returning  to  the  sins  he  had  forsaken. 

In  all  the  days  of  all  the  years  he  had  lived,  Bill  Minden 
never  had  such  an  opportunity  for  carrying  out  his  dark 
purposes;  and  at  Goldmark  Station,  in  the  savagery  of 
the  tempest,  the  thing  was  done  which  Starboard  and 
himself  had  planned  to  do. 

The  man  who  takes  refuge  with  the  devil  must  pay  the 
devil's  fees ;  and  the  man  who  robbed  the  train  at  Gold- 
mark  found,  as  the  night  went  on,  that  Nature  which  had 
given  him  the  shelter  of  the  storm,  in  derision  made  him 
the  victim  of  the  storm.  In  the  hours  when  he  worked  the 
linesmen's  hand-car,  as  had  been  arranged,  over  the  rails 
up  the  grade  and  down  the  incline,  through  the  foothills 
and  out  upon  the  prairie,  he  was  punished  by  a  thousand 
whips  of  rain  and  wind  and  hail,  until  at  last  he  reached 

286 


SOMEONE  MUST  PAY  287 

the  point  where  he  must  forsake  the  hand-car  and  take  the 
trail  to  his  home  in  Askatoon. 

It  was  just  before  the  break  of  dawn  that,  like  one  who 
has  been  man-handled  by  an  army,  with  haggard,  blood- 
less face,  and  deep-sunken  eyes,  with  matted  hair  and 
'beard,  and  a  hand  that  clutched  his  chest  in  pain,  Bill 
Minden  crawled  tip  the  steps  of  his  back  garden  into  his 
office,  and  on  through  the  silent  hallway  upstairs  to  his 
bedroom.  There,  moaning  to  himself,  he  hid  safely  under 
a  loosened  board  of  the  floor  the  soaking  clothes  he  wore. 
Then  he  put  out  another  suit  and  hung  them  on  a  chair, 
as  though  he  had  taken  them  off  for  the  night,  and  crawled 
into  bed,  having  drunk  near  a  tumbler  of  raw  whisky  to 
check  the  terrible  cold  which  had  seized  his  lungs.  For 
a  long  hour  he  suffered  greatly ;  then,  as  dawn  spread,  he 
rang  the  bell. 

A  half-hour  later  the  Young  Doctor  was  t>y  his  bedside, 
and  when  he  turned  away  from  it  to  meet  the  sharp  in- 
quiry of  Mrs.  Finley's  eyes  the  look  in  his  face  could  give 
no  hope  to  any  anxious  friend  of  the  mayor  of  Askatoon. 
Outside  the  door  of  the  bedroom  one  word  he  used  to  Cora 
Finley,  which  summoned  the  color  from  her  face. 

"  Pneumonia,"  he  said. 

All  had  worked  well  for  Minden's  plans,  and  all  had 
worked  ill  for  Minden  himself.  His  racked  and  fevered 
body  paid  in  its  agony,  second  by  second,  for  every  dollar 
which  Starboard  had  carried  away  to  cover  the  fifty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  the  Laurentian  Bank  which  the 
nefarious  Syndicate  had  placed  to  his  credit. 

Not  for  hours  after  the  train  had  left  Goldmark  Station 
were  the  armed,  gagged  guards  of  the  express-van  in  which 
the  money  was  carried  found  and  released.  Two  had 


288  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

ibeen  taken  from  behind,  and  a  third  in  his  excitement  had 
seen  only  a  masked  man  and  a  pistol.  His  explanations 
were  incoherent.  As  for  Minden,  did  not  the  conductor 
(who  was  in  league  with  the  robbers)  stop  the  train  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  at  the  Askatoon  Station  to  let 
Minden  off  in  the  storm?  It  was  only  three  hours  after 
this  event,  which  never  happened,  that  the  robbery  was 
discovered. 

It  had  all  been  perfectly  done,  and  Askatoon  had  no 
suspicion  of  its  mayor.  Hundreds  of  its  citizens  passed 
and  repassed  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel  as  three  anxious  days 
went  on.  Prayer-meetings  were  held;  resolutions  of 
sympathy  by  public  bodies  were  passed.  The  Young 
Doctor  had  almost  to  force  his  way  to  and  from  Bill 
Minden's  home,  so  emotional  and  pertinacious  were  the 
people  who  waylaid  him. 

All  that  he  would  say  was,  "  Where  there's  life  there's 
hope  " ;  but  from  his  mind  hope  had  vanished. 

One  man,  far  away  at  the  capital — Terence  Brennan, 
the  railway  millionaire — had  a  strong  suspicion  that  the 
greatest  train-robber  of  modern  times  had  been  at  work 
again,  but  when  his  detectives  informed  him  that  Bill 
Minden  was  dying  there  was  nothing  to  do.  As  for  the 
money,  if  Minden  had  committed  the:  crime  he  would 
certainly  not  have  brought  it  to  Askatoon. 

At  this  moment  for  a  detective  to  have  breathed  the 
suspicion  of  Minden's  complicity  in  Askatoon  would  have 
made  him  the  victim  of  a  partisan  populace.  Askatoon 
had  nothing  but  gratitude  and  affection  for  Minden.  Open- 
handed  and  open-hearted  he  had  lived  among  them. 
Among  them  he  had  found  "  peace."  To  them  he  had 
given  greatly.  Over  them  he  had  ruled  with  a  rose  branch, 
and  not  a  rod  of  iron. 


SOMEONE  MUST  PAY  289 

When  Mrs.  Finley  told  Minden  in  one  of  the  moments 
when  he  was  free  from  agony  that  there  were  scores 
of  people  outside  the  Rest  Awhile  Hotel  praying  for  his 
recovery,  sending  him  their  best  wishes,  he  whispered, 
"  That's  good,  that's  good.  If  it'll  only  last  me  out,  then 
she'll  remember  me  kindly." 

Mrs.  Finley's  eyes  flashed.  She  saw  deeper  than  any- 
one, except  the  Young  Doctor. 

"  You  can  live  if  you  want  to,"  she  said.  "  You  know 
you  can  live  if  you  want  to.  You're  not  fighting — you're 
giving  in  to  it." 

They  were  singing  a  hymn  outside  the  hotel.  How 
well  he  knew  it !  How  deep  a  part  it  had  played  in  his  life ! 

"  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day, 
And  by  faith  we  may  see  it  afar " 

"If  they'll  only  feel  like  that  till  I'm  gone !  "  he  whis- 
pered, a  cloud  upon  his  face — a  wan,  wasted  look.  No 
hope,  no  faith  shone  in  his  eyes;  his  house  of  life  was 
crumbling,  and  he  knew  it,  and  in  a  sense  he  was  glad. 

Now  and  again  when  Cora  entered  the  room  his  eyes 
followed  her  with  a  hungry  look,  in  which  there  was  the 
only  gleam  that  lighted  the  darkness  of  his  last  days. 

When  she  spoke  to  him  or  took  his  fevered  hand,  the 
glimmer  of  a  defiant  joy  stole  into  his  eyes ;  and  as  he  sat 
hour  after  hour  while  the  pain  tore  him  and  the  hand 
of  penalty  tugged  at  his  body  to  dismember  it  from  the 
soul,  in  his  mind  he  was  saying:  "She'll  be  all  right; 
she'll  be  all  right." 

To  the  appeal  of  members  of  the  Grace  Church  class- 
meeting,  who  wished  to  come  and  pray  beside  his  bed, 
the  Young  Doctor  gave  a  sharp  denial.    He  would  admit 
none  of  them,  class-leaders  or  minister. 
19 


290  JORDAN  IS  A  HARD  ROAD 

"You'll  only  hasten  the  end,"  he  said.  "He's  all 
right;  he's  one  of  you.  He  knows  the  way  Home.  He's 
not  fit  to  listen  or  to  speak,  and  I  won't  have  it." 

So  it  was  that  when  the  end  came  suddenly,  and  the 
knowledge  of  its  coming  spread  in  Bill  Minden's  mind  like 
a  flash  of  flame,  he  half  drew  himself  up,  and  with  a  last 
flicker  of  light  through  his  glazing  eyes  towards  Cora, 
who  sat  beside  his  bed,  he  whispered :  "  Could  you  kiss 
me,  little  gal?" 

With  swimming  eyes  she  kissed  his  cheek  and  lowered 
him  to  the  pillow  again  with  her  arms  at  his  shoulders  and 
her  hands  under  his  head.  A  light  shone  in  his  face  for 
a  moment,  then  a  shadow  crossed  it,  and  his  lips  moved. 
None  could  hear  what  he  said,  except,  perhaps,  Mrs. 
Finley,  who  was  bending  over  him. 

Once  more  he  turned  his  sightless  eyes  to  the  girl,  and 
his  fingers  fluttered  towards  her.  As  she  took  and  pressed 
them  gently,  the  Young  Doctor  turned  away  from  the  bed 
with  a  sigh,  for  in  that  moment  Bill  Minden  had  gone  upon 
his  greatest  adventure. 

"  What  was  it  he  said  ?  "  asked  the  Young  Doctor  later. 

"  He  said : '  Mercy,  mercy ;  Lord,  have  mercy,'  "  Mrs. 
Finley  replied. 

"  He  didn't  need  to  ask  that,"  remarked  Cora,  weeping. 
"  He  found  mercy  at  the  camp  meeting." 

"  Perhaps,  perhaps,"  remarked  the  Young  Doctor,  as 
he  closed  his  pocket  medicine-case  and  prepared  to  go. 
" '  But  Jordan  is  a  hard  road  to  travel,'  as  the  hymn  says." 

The  true  story  of  the  "Sink-or-Swim  Mine,  and  how  it 
came  to  flourish,  is  not  known.  The  man  and  woman  who 
own  it  would  not  be  happy  if  they  did  know.  Neither 
would  have  had  prosperity  at  the  price. 

THE  END 


A 

. 


